


secret, safe, close to the door

by Morcai



Series: to the south [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Gen, Iskryne elements, Murder, Psychic Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 10:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morcai/pseuds/Morcai
Summary: Neil and Hyde are learning to fit in with the Foxes, but they also have a lot of secrets and a penchant for making prestigious enemies with a lot of power. This makes their life difficult.The fall banquet sees the Foxes seated across from the Ravens, in a typical display of either Fox bad luck or Moriyama interference.:summer-coat/winter-coat,:Hyde says pithily, and Neil breathes out a laugh at his brother’s trenchant sense of humor, following the rest of his team to their seats.





	1. Chapter 1

When Elisa and Cory Smith leave Helena, they leave an entire life behind—a sparse-furnished apartment with food still in the cabinets, passports and documents in their names, a job that waits fruitlessly for Elisa to come in for her shift, a homeroom teacher who calls looking for Cory and never gets an answer.

When Cory’s concerned teacher calls the police, everything about the Smith family, from never-seen patriarch to the life story that Cory told his class, crumples like tissue paper.

The investigation stalls out when the police find out every document is a forgery, that Elisa’s fingerprints are an unidentifiable mess of vicious scars. The Smiths are ghosts, and their disappearance quickly turns into a cold case that languishes in the archives. Helena moves on.

Two days before anyone realizes that the Smiths are missing, a thin-lipped blonde woman drives a beat-up sedan with a broken window out to the edge of the city, one hand wrapped around the wrist of the child in the passenger seat. She pauses for fifteen minutes at the city limits, letting go of her son’s wrist to open the back door for a rail-skinny wolf, who immediately leaps into the car, settling his head on the center console.

“Tell me if he needs anything,” the woman says, and the wolf gives her a patient look, before pressing his nose against the boy’s side.

* * *

_:crushed-pine:_ wakes up to stabbing pain in his stomach, the weight of his brother-self against his side, and the sound of his name.

 _:gunsmoke-and-gasoline angry/worried,:_ his brother-self says, and _:crushed-pine:_ flinches faintly. He _was_ careless. It was stupid of him.

“Sorry,” he croaks, opening his eyes. It’s no surprise to find himself in yet another shady motel room. His mother is sitting on the bed, on the other side of his brother, with a map unfolded on her lap.

“Don’t do it again,” she says, and her face is pinched.

“I won’t,” _:crushed-pine:_ promises, like he always does, and rolls carefully into his brother’s warmth, twisting his fingers into thick fur. “Where are we going now?”

 _:away,:_ is his brother-self’s succinct suggestion, and their mother sighs, traces a line along the map in her lap.

“Durango.” She says. “We’ll use the next week to lie low, supply and work out permits, and then there’s a trail that will take us most of the way there.”

She begins folding the map, and _:crushed-pine:_ digs his fingers deeper into his brother’s fur. It’s not the first time they’ve taken to the wilderness to break their trail—he remembers the first time vividly, fleeing a small town in Alabama in the middle of the night, struggling to keep themselves fed and hydrated for a week as they lost themselves and their pursuit.

Ever since, they’ve been more careful about it. Better prepared.

It’s going to be hard and painful and awful, but _:crushed-pine:_ just breathes and hopes he heals quickly,

* * *

The Continental Divide Trail is brutal. They’re early in the season, the rangers say, and the pace they need to keep is difficult for all three of them, but they all know that there’s no use in complaining

Instead they focus on the plain reality of the hike, relax into each other until the line between _:gunsmoke-and-gasoline:_ and _:rabbit-blood-on-pine:_ and _:snowmelt-and-stone:_ fades. They meet a few other hikers, but mostly keep to themselves. Eventually they lapse out of speaking almost entirely. When _:snowmelt-and-stone:_ is already ranging ahead and _:rabbit-blood-on-pine:_ is out of breath, it becomes so much easier to just reach out to _:gunsmoke-and-gasoline:_ and share information.

She doesn’t mind either, not like she did in Boston. By the time they’re all adjusted to the rhythms of the trail, just over a month in, they almost never have to speak.

One hiker, who they walk with for two days before he takes off for resupply, calls them the tightest pack he’s seen in years.

* * *

In Durango, Stacy Wilson does not buy a phone. Her son Jack explains it in terms of her not thinking he needs one, and carefully does not mention how easy it is for him to reach out and ask her any question, how tightly wound their packsense is.

He gets used to the sharpness of his mother’s mind, the acrid taste of her name at the edge of his thoughts, nearly as close as Hyde’s.

One day she sees Romero when she ducks out of her job for a cigarette break, and the flash of _:alarm/escape/fury!:_ across the packsense startles Jack out of a nap in the middle of his history class.

He’s out of the school ten minutes later, not quite sure how he did it, and _:snowmelt-and-stone:_ is waiting for him. When _:gunsmoke-and-gasoline:_ arrives at the abandoned house they’re squatting in, everything that showed they were there is gone, and the car is packed.

“Good,” she says, and her voice is tight. “Let’s go.”

 _:wolves running from deer,:_ Hyde says, privately, as Jack opens the back door for him.

 _:knowing-fear,:_ Jack says softly, and then, _:small-pack against moose-herd? stupid. broken/destroyed, bound, facing will-to-pain, joy-in-pain. running means life. escape is not surrender.:_

Hyde bares one sharp incisor, but leaps into the car. Jack breathes out a slow sigh, relieved he won’t be caught in another fight between his brother-self and his mother.

He closes the door behind Hyde, and slides into the passenger seat, duffel bag at his feet.

“Where now?” he asks.

“Baton Rouge,” she says grimly. “Chaloner has some contacts out there, we might be able to get good enough paperwork to make it out of the country again.”

Jack nods, settles his shoulder against the door and prepares to take another nap. Baton Rouge’s likely to be a whirlwind of back alley deals and avoiding notice, so he’d better get some sleep while he can.

Who knows where they’ll be after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaloner is named after 17th c. forger and confidence man [William Chaloner](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Chaloner).
> 
> Kudos and comments fuel me.


	2. Chapter 2

The first several days after Seth’s death are a disaster, to put it lightly. The infighting eventually becomes bad enough that Wymack splits them up, sending the upperclassmen to Abby and putting Neil and Hyde up on his couch again, while Andrew’s lot are confined to the dorm.

Still, the NCAA exy season doesn’t stop for anything, not even a player’s death, and so the Foxes are called back to the court on Wednesday, with only two days to prepare for their second game of the season, and their suddenly bleak odds for success.

Neil and Hyde catch a ride to the stadium with Nicky, Aaron and Kevin. When they reach the stadium though, Nicky stays in the car, driving away as soon as the four of them are out. Andrew is at Reddin for therapy, and Nicky will need pick him up later and drive him to the stadium, so there’s no point in him staying

Neil and Hyde the stadium first, and while Aaron and Kevin head straight for the lounge, they investigate, finding Wymack in his office and no one else.

When they return to the lounge, they find Kevin and Aaron in the middle of rearranging the furniture, making the gap where Seth once sat less obvious, and moving two chairs to flank the couch that Kevin, Andrew and Nicky have been sharing.

“What are you doing?” Neil asks, hesitating in the doorway.

“Finding new ways for people to fit,” Aaron says. “Unless you _want_ to stare at an empty chair all season.”

 _:motivating,:_ Hyde murmurs, and Neil tugs a little on his fur, though he can’t bring himself to disagree.

“Four people was a stretch anyway,” Kevin says, ignorant of the byplay. “We’re not going to fit five on the couch.”

“Five,” Neil repeats slowly, and Kevin looks at him like he’s stupid. It’s been four months, and Neil still doesn’t like that look any more than he did when he arrived at Palmetto.

“You know your place, don’t you?” Kevin says, like it’s obvious, and Neil can’t help the _snarl_ that scrapes out of his throat in response. Hyde bristles at his hip, presses close.

The room stops dead, Kevin’s eyes wide and startled, and Aaron turning to look.

“Don’t...say that,” Neil says, trying to control the _:rage:_ bouncing between himself and his brother. It’s just Kevin being insensitive, he _knows_ that, he does, but—

Hyde makes a low noise, and Neil breathes, pushes it down, locks it away, lowers a hand to smooth along his brother’s back.

“What?” Kevin says. “That you should know where you belong?”

Hyde huffs softly, and Neil murmurs _:amusement:_ in reply, both of them working to control the boil of _:fury:_ that still wants to lash out.

They’re not stupid enough to think that they belong _anywhere_ , let alone in Andrew’s tight-bound group. But Neil made a bargain with Andrew—protection in exchange for keeping himself in Kevin’s view, keeping Kevin at Palmetto. Which sounds simple, except for the fact it means that Neil and Hyde need to _allow_ Kevin to keep his eyes on them.

Which means they can’t stay on the fringes of Andrew’s group anymore, can’t keep the distance they’re used to.

“Nevermind,” Neil says, and starts towards one of the chairs by the couch. Aaron cuts him off.

“You’re on the couch with Andrew and Kevin,” he says, taking the seat Neil intended to sit in.

Neil gives him an incredulous look. “We’re not sitting with your brother.”

Aaron doesn’t look impressed. “Nicky put up with it for a year. You can deal now.”

“He’s _your_ family,” Neil mutters, but it’s a weak argument at best—no one on the Foxes holds much with blood family being worth anything.

He sits, Kevin following suit moments later. There’s space between them for Andrew, but with Andrew at Reddin for the next hour or so, they leave it empty.

Hyde considers the gap for a long moment, before leaping onto the couch and settling himself with his head on Neil’s lap, giving Kevin a few solidly ‘accidental’ kicks to the thigh. Kevin throws them an incredulous look, but Neil just runs a hand down his brother’s back and meets Kevin’s gaze steadily.

There’s a certain amount of tension between Dan and Aaron over Neil’s new seating, once the rest of the team arrives, but Wymack puts a quick stop to it, instead giving his version of a pep talk before sending them out to the court for cardio. Neil changes out quickly, and then returns to the lounge, where Hyde has stretched out to take up the whole couch. He taps his thigh in question and Hyde huffs, before hopping off of the couch and following him to the court.

It’s not hard work, but Neil’s long since gotten used to the fact cardio doesn’t tire him out like it does other people. He and Hyde have learned to keep pace on laps and intervals since the first time Hernandez yelled at Neil for lapping the rest of the team in Millport. He and Hyde push themself on their own time.

Dan leads them back into the locker room for water and stretches after about forty minutes, just in time for them to meet Nicky and Andrew, returned from Reddin.

Neil tunes out the conversation about Allison, purely out of self-preservation. Instead, he busies himself stretching out his legs, staking out a corner of floor by the hallway and sitting down with Hyde beside him.

That means he hears it when Wymack’s phone starts ringing, and when, after storming back to his office, Wymack answers it. His tone’s surprisingly civil for the amount of growling he’s been doing at the Foxes.

“Coach Wymack, Palmetto State University—Say again? One moment.”

Wymack storms back into the lounge, phone in hand, and Neil watches him with a wary eye.

“Andrew Joseph Minyard, what the fuck have you done?” he shouts, kicking open the door to the men’s changing room. Neil’s proud that he manages to restrain his flinch to a tightening of his jaw, a brief shift of his weight towards Hyde.

“It wasn’t me, it was the one-armed man!” Andrew shouts back as the door swings closed, with the air of someone quoting something.

“Get the fuck out here,” Wymack yells back, and Neil gives up on his stretches, instead just leaning into Hyde’s side, running steady hands over cached knives and tools. It’s Wymack, he _knows_ it’s just Wymack, but he also needs to know what resources he has to hand. Just in case.

 _:safe as ever,:_ Hyde murmurs wryly, and Neil huffs, leaning over to press his cheek to his brother’s.

A moment later, Andrew appears out of the changing room, already geared up.

“The police are on the phone asking for you,” Wymack says, crossing his arms. “Tell me what you did, before I get the unexpurgated version from them.”

Andrew blinks, bouncing on his toes. “Wasn’t me,” he says. “Try my doppelganger?”

Wymack just scowls and lifts the phone back to his ear.

“What’s the problem, Officer...Higgins, right?”

“Oh,” Andrew says, suddenly going still. “No, Coach.”

Wymack waves a hand for quiet, but Andrew yanks the phone out of his hand, turning away. Wymack, in a display of impressive reflexes, manages to pull Andrew up short with a handful of his jersey.

Andrew doesn’t fight though, instead staring at the phone like he’s never seen one.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Wymack says, with a tinge of impatience to his voice, and Andrew twitches, turns slightly, until he can see Aaron, who is busy stretching. There’s another beat, then Andrew gives an exaggerated shrug and puts the phone to his ear.

“Pig Higgins,” he says cheerily, “that you? It is. Yes, I’m surprised. Did you forget I don’t like surprises? What? No, don’t stall, you wouldn’t track me down after all these years just to chat. What do you want?”

There’s a long silence, and Andrew’s smile slips off his face.

“No,” he says finally, and hangs up.

The phone rings again almost immediately, and by this point all the Foxes are staring, stretches forgotten. Andrew tugs on his jersey until Wymack lets him go, and moves to lean against the wall.

“What?” Andrew snaps. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t hang up on you. I—no. Shut up.”

He hangs up again, but Higgins is persistent. The phone rings again, and Andrew lets it for several long moments before he finally answers it.

“Talk to me,” Andrew snaps, and Higgins must have a lot to say, because Andrew is silent for what seems like a small eternity. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Neil can _see_ it cut through the drug mania, first in the way his smile vanishes, and then in the tapping of Andrew’s toe and the way he turns his gaze to the ceiling.

“Back up,” Andrew finally interrupts. “Who complained. No, don’t give me that, I know where you work. That means there’s a child in her house, and she shouldn’t—what? No. Don’t ask that. I said _don’t_. Leave me alone. Hey,” Andrew raises his voice, like he’s cutting Higgins off. “Don’t call me again, or I’ll kill you.”

He hangs up, then stares at the phone for several long seconds, as if to make sure that Higgins got the message. When it remains silent, Andrew covers his eyes with one hand and starts to laugh.

“What’s going on?” Nicky asks, having just come out of the changing room. “What’s so funny?”

Andrew finally controls his laughter and removes the hand from his face, turning to look at Nicky. “Nothing,” he says, and the drugged grin is back on his face. “Nothing to worry about.”

Wymack looks unimpressed. “What did you do?”

“Who, me?” Andrew asks, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Nothing.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Wymack says. “Why is Oakland PD calling for you?”

Andrew shrugs, all exaggerated innocence. “The pig and I go way back. I guess he just wanted to catch up.”

“Lie to my face one more time, and we’re going to have a problem.”

“It’s the truth,” Andrew defends. “Mostly.” He throws the phone across the room, the back of the handset flying off when it hits the ground. His grin doesn’t so much as twitch.

“He worked in the Oakland PAL program, thought he could save at-risk kids by teaching them sports or whatever. Like you, idealistic to the core.”

“You left Oakland years ago.”

Andrew shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m flattered he remembers me or whatever. See you tomorrow.”

He starts for the door, and Wymack reaches out to block his path.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving,” Andrew says, gesturing to the exit. “Didn’t I make that clear? Maybe I mumbled.”

“We have practice,” Dan snaps. “We have a game in less than a week.”

“You have Joan of Exy,” Andrew says with an idle gesture toward Renee. “I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.”

He heads towards the door again, and Wymack catches him by the arm.

“Cut the crap,” Wymack says. “What’s the real problem here?”

“Nothing idealism will help,” Andrew says, cheery and vicious. “I’m going now.”

“Coach,” Aaron says, when Wymack shows no signs of releasing Andrew. “Just let him go.”

Wymack gives them both a frustrated glance, but Aaron only looks tired, and Andrew’s manic grin gives away nothing more than it ever does. He drops his arm.

“You and I are going to have a long talk later,” he says to Andrew.

“Sure,” Andrew says, bright and insincere, and vanishes out the door.

There’s a moment of silence, broken finally by a low whistle from Nicky. “Seriously, though,” he says. “What’d I miss?”

Wymack ignores the question in favor of turning to look at Aaron.

“Answers, Aaron,” he says.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t know why Higgins is calling,” Aaron says, adamant. “Call him back or ask Andrew if you want to know—he was Andrew’s mentor, not mine.”

“Well he clearly managed to make an impression,” Wymack says and Aaron just shrugs.

“Oh,” Nicky says, sounding startled. He turns to look at Aaron. “Is he the one—?

“Yeah,” Aaron says. “He’s the one who told me I have a brother.”

All of the Foxes turn to look at Aaron, which Neil is glad of, because it hides the way he’s suddenly choking on the tide of black _:delight:_ from Hyde.

 _:couldn’t tell?:_ Hyde says mind-voice light and amused and poisonous, as Wymack shakes his head and chivvies them back onto the court. _:couldn’t see-feel-smell it? wasn’t obvious/painful your whole life?:_

He follows them out of the locker room, lies down by the bench, like he usually does during practice, and murmurs _:lucky:_ as Aaron passes him by on his way onto the court.

* * *

 

It takes a trip back to the dorms, and a handle of rum and a bottle of coke before Nicky’s even willing to allow anyone to broach the subject of the new complication in the twins’ relationship. Neil abstains from the drinking, instead withdrawing to sit at the far end of the coffee table, where he can keep an eye on everyone and Hyde can lean in as close as he needs to.

“Why didn’t Aaron know he had a brother?” Dan asks, once everyone who wants one has a drink in hand.

“Well, just, like, think about it, okay?” Nicky says, gesturing a little with his cup. “Aunt Tilda didn’t want to tell Aaron she gave his twin brother up at birth. She wanted it all to stay buried forever.”

“Aaron found out though,” Neil says. It takes effort to keep his voice even, in the face of Hyde’s venomous amusement.

“Yeah, well that’s kind of why I believe in fate, you know? Aunt Tilda got really into online dating, and right after Aaron turned thirteen, she hooked up with this guy in Oakland, who thought they should meet up at a Raiders game. Aaron says he was at the concessions stand when this cop came up, calling him Andrew and acting like they knew each other. _He_ thought the guy was crazy, but it didn’t take the cop too long to figure out something was up.”

“Higgins,” Matt guesses.

“Yeah, so he figured out he had the wrong brother and made Aaron take him to Tilda. Seems he thought Aunt Tilda was another foster mom, and that Aaron and Andrew accidentally got split up in the system. Higgins wanted to get them in contact, so Aunt Tilda gave him her number to pass on and took Aaron home.”

Nicky pauses, mixing himself another drink.

“Not sure why she bothered,” he says, continuing. “Maybe she was embarrassed? Anyway, Andrew’s foster mom called the next day to set up a meeting, and Aunt Tilda refused, said she didn’t want anything to do with Andrew, made them promise not to contact her again. Which would have worked except Aaron knew who was calling, and was listening on an upstairs line.”

Nicky takes a long drink. “He said it was the worst day of his life.”

Hyde wriggles, shifting until most of his front half is in Neil’s lap, and says, sharp and bitterly sarcastic, _:easy worst. “oh no, does_ not _get to meet/be shredded? disaster!” stupid.:_

Neil lifts a hand to rub gently at the back of his brother’s ears, as much to soothe himself as to calm Hyde.

“Jesus,” Matt breathes. “I don’t blame him. Did he say he knew?”

Nicky gestures with his drink. “Oh yeah, he said they had a screaming match, but Aunt Tilda wouldn’t budge. So he went behind her back and called Oakland PD, found the PAL coordinators and made _them_ give his info to Andrew. Eventually he got back a letter that basically amounted to ‘fuck you, go away’.”

“So how’d he change Andrew’s mind?” Dan asks.

Nicky gives Dan a look. “He didn’t.”

“What?”

“He didn’t try again.” Nicky says.

 _:_ good _litter-sib,:_ Hyde approves, with a faintly hysterical edge. Neil wraps his other hand in Hyde’s harness straps, to hide the way his knuckles are going white. He breathes, and, ignoring Nicky’s storytelling, starts counting to ten in French, and then German, and then in his barely-remembered Spanish, trying for calm in the face of Hyde’s horror and amusement. When it doesn’t help, he starts over in French, this time counting to twenty.

 _:should have kept away,:_ Hyde continues, sharp as blood. _:wouldn’t be angry-chained if he’d never walked back in reach!:_

“Wait, so how’d they end up actually meeting?” Dan says, looking confused.

Nicky shrugs. “Dad found out about Andrew five years ago,” he says counting it off on his fingers, “So four and a half years ago? Something like that. Dad flew Aaron out to talk to Andrew. If you don’t count that—and I don’t—they met for real when Andrew made early parole a...year later, and Dad bullied Aunt Tilda into bringing him home.”

Hyde curls a lip, ever so slightly. No one but Neil notices, too caught up in Nicky’s story. Neil keeps the pressure of his fingers, still rubbing behind his brother’s ears, deliberate. Gentle, but not too light. It takes effort to be gentle, in contrast to the creaking-knuckle grip he has on the chest-strap of Hyde’s harness.

“It’s weird when you think about it though,” Nicky says. “They’ve only really known each other for about three years.”

Neil’s fingers clench convulsively, and his brother shudders in his lap, whispers _:but met full-grown, not cub-soft and easily twisted (pain/my-will-is-all/love-you/rage/_ not _dying here).:_

Hyde presses closer, until Neil can feel his thundering heartbeat, and says, deliberate and idle, like veneer over screaming, _:very lucky:_

* * *

Every morning when Neil wakes up, it’s still a punch to the gut to reflexively touch the packsense and find _:emptiness:_ where he’s used to finding _:gunsmoke-and-gasoline:_ and her practicality and her paranoia. It’s been months, but it still feels like a part of them has been carved away.

Hyde sighs, shifting ever so slightly closer, and Neil buries his face in his brother’s fur.

They allow themselves two minutes, to grieve and blend together, to calculate the costs and benefits of staying, to weigh their fear.

Then Neil grits his teeth, separates himself from his brother, builds his half of their shields back up and forces himself out of bed. They have practice to get to.

* * *

Their next game isn’t even a full week after Seth’s death, and Wymack calls them to the court just after noon to meet and talk strategy before they have to get on the bus.

All of the Foxes are there, including Allison, but Wymack and Abby are conspicuous in their absence.

It’s awkward, and Neil and Hyde can’t help being on edge, can’t help waiting for Allison to strike out at them. She’d be right to. They made the choice to insult Riko on national television, and Kevin had warned them that Riko would retaliate. Less than twelve hours later, Seth was dead.

It could have been coincidence, yet another fault line in an already fractured team. Andrew didn’t think so, though, and Neil and Hyde have made a life of not believing in coincidences.

Nicky, and then Dan both make a go at checking in with and reassuring Allison, who looks flawless and broken. Neil takes his seat quietly, and does his best not to draw her attention. Hyde sits down by the arm of the couch, watching her carefully.

Neither of them deserve to talk to her—not when Hyde was just as happy to tear at Riko as Neil was. But she's broken, and Hyde has never had a good experience with broken people.

The lounge is quiet for several long minutes, the tension palpable, and then the door to Wymack’s office swings open and Wymack enters the lounge. He observes them all for a moment, expression carefully neutral, before gesturing to Allison.

“Go get on the bus,” he says. “Nicky will load your things.”

Nicky grimaces, but doesn’t argue, and Allison leaves without once looking back. The door is barely closed behind her before Nicky says, “Okay but seriously, whose idea was it to let her play? I would have just left her behind and apologized once we were back. She’s not ready to play.”

“I asked her,” Wymack says. “She wanted to come.”

Andrew laughs, and says, “Don’t worry, Nicky, she’ll play. You really ought to be more worried about those lunatics.” He gestures to Kevin and Neil with a lazy hand.

“That’s what we’re talking about right now,” Wymack says, looking serious. “Dan and I spent this week trying to figure out how to deal with the strikers.” He looks over to Neil. “Kevin hasn’t played full halves since last fall, and I don’t think you’ve ever tried.”

Neil shrugs. “Not really.”

He could _run_ for a full half, easily. But playing it is different.

Wymack raises an eyebrow, but shakes his head. “Right now, I’m not letting either of you kill yourselves playing a full game. We’ll work you up to it, a week at a time. In the meantime, we’ll mix it up to stay afloat.”

He throws Dan and Renee a glance, and then explains their substitutions. Neil tilts his head as he listens, dropping a hand to rub at Hyde’s ears. It’s ugly, a brutal, slapdash solution to their problem, but…

 _:circling-to-defend, teeth out, defending-wounded,:_ Hyde says, slow and considering. _:keeping the pack alive?:_

 _:lost-wolf/pack-lives:_ Neil agrees : _hardrun, hurts, worthwhile.:_

It’ll work. If they try hard enough, if Neil can improve fast enough, this won’t ruin their chances.

* * *

The game, once they make it to Belmonte University, is awful. Andrew is trying to ride his drug comedown for a full game, the line is a disaster with the new substitutions, and Neil’s mark is both massive and _annoying_.

Still, at least Neil can tell that the late night practices with Kevin are paying off. And eventually, everything comes together to allow Neil to modify a trick he’s used to playing on Hyde, sending Herrera crashing over his shoulder and then into the wall.

It’s imperfect, because Herrera clips Neil’s shoulder on the way over, but that’s fixable.

 _:timing problem,:_ Neil comments idly, during half-time, as he works his fingers under Hyde’s harness, checking knives and scratching the deep itches that Hyde can’t. His shoulder aches, but it’s not nearly bad enough to keep him from playing. _:used to quick-thinker/agile-hunter.:_

 _:am_ very _good at hunt-me-hunt-you,:_ Hyde agrees, leaning his chin into Neil’s fingers before he admonishes, _:adapt next time. hunting bison, not elk.:_

Neil agrees.

They head back out for the second half, and it doesn’t go any better than the first—the Foxes pull ahead, finally, but Matt gets into a fight with his striker, earning himself a yellow card, and Renee gets one herself when she runs in to help.

Still, they win, somehow. Andrew pulls off an impossible save, cracking the wood of his racquet against the court floor to deny Belmonte’s last shot on goal.

On the bus ride back, Neil and Hyde find themself taking a seat behind the upperclassmen, listening to them cheerfully celebrate the game, with the occasional tactless dissection from Kevin.

Neil digs his fingers into Hyde’s fur, positioning himself so that his brother can push right up into his chest and lie on top of his legs. It’s comfortable, being so close, and it’s nice to hear his teammates so pleased.

Hyde tucks his head under Neil’s jaw, and they breathe.

It’s a little startling when they recognize that the emotion mirroring back and forth between them is the slow honeyed seep of _:happiness:._

The realization stuns them for a moment, and they lose track of the conversation, of their boundaries, smearing for a second into a gold-warm blur of _:happy-safe-content:_.

They sigh, curl a little closer. It can’t last, not with who they are—hunted and lying and carrying too many secrets. But maybe they can savor it, just for now.

* * *

Neil has nearly a million dollars to his name, and the anxiety about the use of it that comes from having been all but homeless for nearly half his life. There are the things worth spending money on—contacts, documentation, weaponry, tickets, medical supplies—and the things that aren’t. Clothes fall firmly into the _aren’t_ category.

His teammates, apparently, have different priorities.

Which would be why, this Tuesday afternoon, Neil and Hyde are stuck in the mall with Andrew, Aaron, Kevin and Nicky.

“Pick a shirt, Neil!” Nicky calls, and Neil just twitches a shoulder, flicking attention to Nicky quickly before roving away. He doesn’t like the mall—too many people, too many scents, too much... _noise_.

“They’re both grey, Nicky,” he says. “It doesn’t _matter_.”

He turns back to watching Andrew strip shirts off of hangers, the salesperson eying them warily, half a dozen other people who are paying more attention than he’d like.

There have been three attempts to pickpocket _some_ member of their group too, which he and Hyde managed to stop, but it’s _annoying_ , because Neil doesn’t want to make a scene. It just doesn’t exactly feel right to let people lift Kevin or Aaron’s wallet just because they’re inattentive.

“Neil,” Nicky says, and his voice is no longer light.

“ _What_?” Neil asks, turning to look.

“They’re...not grey,” Nicky says, and there’s something strange in his expression.

“Yes they—” Neil hesitates. Now that he’s paying attention, the whole world is washed-out grey-blue-yellow which means... _fuck_.

He breathes, closes his eyes, and centers himself on _his_ half of self. When he opens them again, the shirts are, indeed, not grey. One is verdant green, the other a soft blue.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just...pick whatever. Why are you asking me anyway?”

Nicky grins, the strangeness going out of his face in an instant. “Because these are for you! You know Coach has been after us to fix your wardrobe for months? He threatened to sign us up for a marathon if we didn’t do something soon, and I’m just not built to run that far.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes,” Neil says, and Nicky just purses his lips and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, honey,” he says, and then shakes his head. “Don’t argue with me.”

Neil lets out a slow breath, lowering a hand to stroke along Hyde’s back, trying to control his irritation.

“I don’t need this,” he says.

“Uh, remember when I said not to argue?” Nicky asks. “I hope so, because I said it like, five seconds ago. Now go find pants, or we’ll be here even longer.”

Neil puts up a bit more of a fight, but Nicky is adamant, and eventually Neil is outmaneuvered. When they make their way to the register, Nicky refuses to let Neil pay, instead holding out a card and saying “Coach told us to buy you clothes, like, back in _May_. He said he’d expense it.”

“I can buy my own clothes,” Neil protests, as Nicky pockets the receipt.

Kevin, standing nearby, offers a snort and gives Neil a slow once over, from the ragged hems of his worn-pale jeans to the shredded edge of his shirt’s collar.

Neil’s stomach spikes with shame at the disdain in the look, but Hyde just leans closer, murmurs _:partridge faking a broken wing, red fish among red fish:_ . And he’s right—there’s a _reason_ Neil dresses like this.

“Fuck you,” he says, without heat, and Kevin just rolls his eyes, leading the way out of the store and towards the fountain at the center of the mall, where Andrew is waiting.

He’s fiddling with a phone, old fashioned and gunmetal-grey, and doesn’t look up until Nicky drops his bags and leans over.

“A flip phone?” Nicky says, sounding dismayed. “Way to ruin the pot, Andrew! I was expecting at least something with a keyboard.”

“Why bother?” Andrew asks, tossing the phone to Neil. He catches it out of pure instinct. It clatters out of his fingers though, at Andrew’s next words.

“Who is Neil going to text?”

“Me, obviously,” Nicky says, and then he turns to look at Neil.

“Then again,” he says, “if he’s just going to throw it around like that, maybe getting him a flip phone is for the best.”

Neil forces his eyes from the phone, grey against the tan tile of the floor. Andrew is smiling, Nicky looks bemused, and both Kevin and Aaron just look bored.

Neil feels like he can’t breathe.

He hasn’t had a phone since he was fifteen, hasn’t _needed_ one. The only people he ever needed to contact were right there. Always.

Phones are for people who don’t have a _:pack:_.

“Neil,” Nicky says, and Hyde looks up, tilts his head at Nicky, tries to look better. Less devastated, maybe. Less traumatized, at least. Neil presses close, and they breathe, blend, hide from the pain in the comfort of each other.

A swallow, a shake of the head. “No,” they say, picking the phone off of the floor with an unsteady hand and holding it out to Nicky. “No.”

“Neil,” Nicky says, holding his hands up and refusing to take it, “you need a phone this year. How else are we going to get into contact with you?”  
  
“You have this way of making people want to kill you,” Andrew says, and his smile is savage.  
  
“What if Coach needs to talk to you?” Nicky says, looking a little pained at his cousin’s tactlessness. “Shit got crazy last year, with all the Raven’s fans, and this year isn’t starting out much better. This is just in case, you know? It’ll make us feel better if we can find you.”  
  
Neil and Hyde have survived for a long time because people couldn’t find them. They’re not interested in making it easy.  
  
“We can’t.” It’s raw, bleedingly too-honest, but there’s only so much dissembling they can do right now, with Nicky shoving loss in their face like this. “Nicky, we can’t.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Nicky says, and this time when they shove the phone at him, he takes it. “We’ll find another way.”  
  
They shake their heads, step back, scoop up the bags of clothes. Turning to Andrew, they don’t even have to ask for the keys. When they take them, though, Andrew takes a moment before releasing them, tugging a little to make sure he has their attention.  
  
“Hey, Neil,” he says, with a smile that could cut glass. “Honesty looks terrible on you.”  
  
Their lips curl, but they don’t say anything, just taking the keys and walking away.  
  
They know.

* * *

Of course, given Andrew’s insistence on always getting his own way, that’s not the end of it, and Hyde watches with wary eyes as Andrew kicks Kevin out of the locker room after late night practice, while Neil is busy changing back into his own clothes.

Watches him set two phones, identical but for the color, on the bench.

Neil hisses a breath out between his teeth, finishes changing, and storms out into the locker room. He’s careful not to catch his own reflection along the way.

“No,” he snaps at Andrew, as soon as they’re in the same room. “Absolutely not.”

“A man can only have so many issues,” Andrew says, unmoved.

There’s something in the space between Neil and Hyde that says Andrew isn’t exactly _wrong_ , but he’s not right either.

“I don’t need one,” Neil forces out instead, his lips numb and his articulation over-precise because of it.

“Who needs one more?” Andrew asks, before he flips Neil’s phone open and taps a button or two  “Listen.”

It takes a second, but Andrew’s phone begins to ring—a man’s voice, and a song about survival.

Neil scowls, crossing the room to scoop up his phone and stabs at the call cancel button.

“Not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Andrew says. “You deliberately antagonized Riko, and I made you a promise to keep you safe. Explain to me why you’re making that more difficult for me.”

 _:making being_ alive _more difficult,:_ Hyde grumbles, and Neil agrees.

“I survived to be this old because I didn’t make it easy for people to find me,” he tells Andrew.

“That’s not why,” Andrew says,

“Are you asking me to play your honesty game?” Neil asks sharply, straddling the bench and facing Andrew, the phones between them.

“Why not?” Andrew says, and he looks almost bored. “You go first.”

Neil swallows, spins the phone on the bench with one finger, considers how to put together truth and falsehood in order to be honest and tell Andrew nothing real at the same time.

“Parents get their kids phones so they can keep track of them,” he says finally, refusing to look up. “Mine—they never _needed_ a phone to know if I was okay. By the time it mattered, I had Hyde, and Hyde and I had them. A phone would have been. Pointless.”

He swallows. Spins the phone again.

“When we ran—we _knew_ they were dead. But that didn’t stop me from just. Reaching out. Expecting they’d still be there, that they’d tell us we could come home. That everything was fine.” Neil stills the phone, taps at the casing. “I’ve never had a phone. I never needed one. And now—who would I even call?”

“Coach,” Andrew suggests blandly. “Nicky, the suicide hotline. I don’t really care.”

Neil slants an irritated glance at Andrew. “Then why bother to get me one? There has to be a better way.”

Andrew clicks his tongue. “You could get a backbone, if you like. I know it’s a difficult concept for you, but you should give it a try.”

Hyde stirs to his feet, irritated, and the corner of Neil’s mouth twitches angrily.

Backbone has never been something they’re missing. If anything, their mother always told them they had too _much_. They run, and run well, but they’ve never bent. Never broken.

“What I’d _like_ to do,” Neil says, a bloom of fury—his or his brother’s, the distinction is mostly irrelevant—turning him savage, “is put this phone through your eye socket.”

“Well,” Andrew says, and he sounds considering. “That’s more interesting.”

“Not here to entertain you,” Neil mutters, fixing his eyes on the bench and struggling to contain the sharpness of memory, the braided curl of his and Hyde’s temper.

“But you’re fortunately clever enough to multitask,” Andrew rejoins, before his voice turns serious. “A question, runaway. Do I look dead to you?”

Hyde prowls across the room, coming to a stop by Neil’s knee, his familiar warmth soothing.

 _:might be soon,:_ he comments sharply, _:goat-kid on cliff “look how smart-fast-agile” trip-fall-break, good meal:_

Neil reaches out, grounds himself with the wiry warmth of his brother’s fur against his hand, the desert heat of his brother’s mind against this own.

“Here,” Andrew says, sounding unsurprised to have gotten no answer.

He flips his phone open, angling it so that Neil can see what he’s doing, and presses down hard on one button.

There’s nothing for a long moment, and then the other phone starts to ring—different words, but clearly still the same unhappy song.

“Your phone is ringing,” Andrew says. “You should answer it.”

Neil stares for a long moment, before he picks the phone up with shaking hands, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

“Your parents are dead,” Andrew says, his voice steady. “You are not fine, and nothing will ever be okay. This is not news. But until May, you are still Neil Josten, and I am still the man who promised to keep you alive.”

Andrew reaches out, presses one finger under Neil’s chin, tilting his face up until their gazes almost meet. Neil focuses instead on the bridge of his nose, the solid determination of his expression.

“I don’t care if you use this phone tomorrow or never,” Andrew continues, dropping his hand. “But you are going to keep it close, because one day you might need it. On that day, you are not going to run. You are going to remember the promise I made you, and you are going to make the call. Do you understand?”

Neil manages a nod.

“Good,” Andrew says, before he closes his phone with a decisive _snap_ . Neil takes a second, before he removes the phone from his ear. He stares at it for a moment, at the name and the flashing _Call Duration 00:35_ on the screen.

He closes it slowly, and reaches out to Hyde. His brother already understands, ducking under his hand and positioning himself so that Neil doesn’t even have to try to find a pouch on his harness. It’s the work of seconds to tuck the phone away, tight against one of the knives that Hyde already carries.

Hyde shakes himself, and the phone doesn’t fall out. Neil puts his hand in his lap, stretches his fingers out like he can forget what a phone feels like again.

It’s only been three years since he stopped carrying a burner, but it feels unnatural. He breathes, flicks a glance at Andrew’s bored face, tries to control his expression.

Probably he doesn’t succeed.

“If you’re done having issues,” Andrew says finally, “take your turn. Kevin’s probably fuming about how long we’re taking.”

Neil breathes, reaches out to Hyde.

 _:bargain with vodka-old-paper?:_ he asks, but Hyde huffs.

 _:can just ask vodka-old-paper,:_ Hyde replies. _:query proprietary information?:_

Neil grimaces at the sterile phrasing, but considers Andrew’s phone where it’s still sitting on the bench. Asking a question only Andrew can answer is a better use of his turn, Hyde is right.

“What did Oakland PD want with you?” Neil asks finally.

“Right for the throat,” Andrew says, and he sounds amused. “Maybe you aren’t so spineless.”

Hyde makes a low noise, baring his teeth at Andrew for the insult. Andrew looks unbothered.

“Child Services is starting an investigation into one of my foster fathers. Pig Higgins wanted to see what I would say about him.”

“And you wouldn’t help him,” Neil says.

 _:interesting though—:_ Hyde murmurs, and his focus and temper leave his mind-voice chilly. _:father investigated but—“a child in_ her _house,” “_ she _shouldn’t” misdirection? investigation on wrong trail?:_

Neil blinks, processing the bits of recollection Hyde shares, the way Hyde’s attention lends emphasis that wasn’t there when Andrew spoke.

Andrew, not privy to Hyde’s analysis, flicks his fingers casually. “Richard Spear is boring and, ultimately, mostly harmless. They won’t find anything on him.”

 _:only_ mostly _harmless, though:_ Hyde murmurs, and intrigue, threaded faintly with _:hunting:_ is slowly winning over his anger.

“Because there’s nothing to find?” Neil asks, speaking slowly as he and Hyde work through their information and their suspicions. “Or because he’s misunderstood who to look at?”

Andrew goes utterly still for a split second, before he says “I don’t like that word.”

“Misunderstood?” Neil guesses, and knows he’s right by the way Andrew’s shoulders tighten. “It’s an odd word to have a grudge against.”

 _:laying false-trail,:_ Hyde observes. _:away from what?:_

 _:protecting someone?:_ Neil suggests. _:protecting self?:_

“You don’t have any room to judge other people’s issues,” Andrew says with finality, swinging his leg over the bench and heading out the door before Neil can ask another question.

Neil sighs, and follows, ignoring Kevin’s irritated expression and complaints when he slides into the car, just after Andrew.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Neil’s phone goes off constantly. It’s usually Nicky, though occasionally Dan, who texts like she’s failing English, or Matt will message him.

Neil doesn’t like it. There are more than a few days where he looks at the phone, sitting on his desk or by his pillow, and is tempted to just leave it behind. _:just for today,:_ he always tells Hyde, who usually takes one of his hands in gentle teeth and tugs, just a little, in warning.

Eventually, the sound of his phone going off doesn’t make him feel like his heart is about to stop. It still sometimes feels foreign in his hand, makes them long for a cigarette to soothe the gunsmoke flavored _:emptiness:_ in their skull. But they keep the phone, and eventually Neil stops trying to leave it behind, starts to carry it himself instead of leaving it to Hyde’s keeping.

* * *

Neil’s phone buzzes, jittering across the library table that he’s spread his math homework across. Hyde raises his head from where he’s lying, under the table with his head by Neil’s feet, and Neil looks at it suspiciously.

He’s stopped flinching the instant it goes off, which seems to please Nicky, but he’s still not pleased at having one.

The phone buzzes again, and Hyde whines, his ears going back.

 _:noisy,:_ he says, nudging at Neil’s calf. _:answer, so it’s quiet.:_

Neil sighs, but the loud buzzing has also gotten him several irritated looks from other students in the library. He reaches out, flipping it open to find two messages from Dan.

_where r u_

_i have a q 4 u_

Neil squints at the messages for a long moment, trying to decipher Dan’s incomprehensible messaging style, before giving up.

 _I’m at the library_ he messages back, before muting his phone and returning to his problem sets. He’s almost finished the assignment when a shadow falls over his paper. Looking up, he finds Dan already seating herself on the other side of his table, Matt behind her and carrying a tray of drinks from the library coffee shop.

“Answer your phone, asshole,” Dan says affectionately, as Matt puts down the tray and sits next to her. “We had to search two whole study areas before we found you, because you wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

Neil blinks, not quite sure why Dan and Matt would be looking for him. Hyde huffs from under the table, the scraping of chairs rousing him completely from his doze.

 _:query-importance,:_ he says, a little grouchy, and Neil can’t help agreeing.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and Matt just shrugs.

“Dan wanted to make sure you weren’t still drowning, after she made you drop those classes. And we brought you coffee!”

“Okay?” Neil says, still unsure.

“Here,” Dan says, passing over a cup. “Try this.”

Neil takes the cup, a little confused, and turns his attention to the last problem of the assignment, bouncing his pencil on the table as he thinks it through.

“Didn’t you have a question?” he asks, writing the necessary formula next to the problem.

“Drink your coffee,” Dan says. “It can wait.”

Hyde stretches out and mutters _:suspicious,:_ as he emerges from under the table, circling to sit behind Neil’s chair and observe the room.

 _:dangerous?:_ Neil asks, because while he wouldn’t _expect_ malice from Dan, blind trust isn’t what kept them alive.

Hyde thinks for a moment, though he doesn’t move from his position at Neil’s back.

 _:no,:_ he finally decides. _:suspicious, but not-dangerous.:_

Neil looks at Dan through his eyelashes, pretending to still be considering his homework. There’s the tiniest hint of something twitching at the corner of her mouth, but he can’t see any of the familiar signs of cruelty in her expression.

 _:agreement,:_ he sighs, working out the answer to the last problem and drawing the coffee closer.

The neat square around his final answer is old habit, and he lifts the cup to his mouth as he lays down his pencil, taking a tentative sip.

He almost spits it all over his just-finished homework.

“What,” he says, staring at the cup.

Dan is unsuccessfully smothering laughter in Matt’s shoulder, and Matt isn’t even trying to hide the fact he’s laughing at Neil.

“Called it!” Dan gasps. “Allison owes me five bucks!”

“ _What_ ,” Neil repeats, pushing the cup away from him and wrinkling his nose at the sugary-sweet taste in his mouth.

“I _told_ her he doesn’t like sweet things,” Matt says, still grinning. “Just because Allison has basic tastes…”

 _:nasty,:_ is Hyde’s only comment, as he examines the taste in Neil’s mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dan says, finally getting herself under control. “That’s for me. This is yours—black, no sugar.” She passes him an identical cup from the library cafe, taking the first one back.

“What does Allison have to do with this?” Neil asks, taking the lid off of the coffee and blowing across the reassuringly dark surface.

“We’re having an argument about pumpkin spice,” Dan says, waving a hand. “Allison and I made a bet on whether or not you’d like it.”

Neil nods as though that makes any kind of sense, and starts to gather his math homework together.

Dan takes a sip of her over-sugared drink, and Neil wrinkles his nose faintly, thinking of the taste. Matt, who notices his expression, goes off into gales of laughter again.

“But really,” Dan says, putting her coffee down. “How are you doing in your classes, now that you have a _sane_ course schedule?”

Neil shrugs. “I’m fine,” he says, and Dan makes an irritated noise, before digging out her wallet and handing a bill to Matt.

 _:crazy,:_ Hyde says, sounding faintly bewildered. Neil can’t help but agree.

* * *

The fall banquet sees the Foxes seated across from the Ravens, in a typical display of either Fox bad luck or Moriyama interference.

 _:summer-coat/winter-coat,:_ Hyde says pithily, and Neil breathes out a laugh at his brother’s trenchant sense of humor, following the rest of his team to their seats.

The Ravens are all identical, in clothing and in posture, in a way that leaves Hyde wary. Neil eyes them all with trepidation as he sits, Nicky on one side, an empty seat for Hyde to take over on the other, with Kevin just beyond.

The sniping, predictably, begins almost immediately, and Neil forces himself to breathe around the spike of rage at Riko’s slights against Dan. He might not understand the context, but he can get by well enough on tone and body language, and he doesn’t appreciate what he’s seeing.

Hyde’s lip curls, just the faintest bit, but doesn’t move to interfere. They both know Dan wouldn’t appreciate it. Neil breathes deeply, tries to settle in his seat and hopes to be ignored.

It’s not more than thirty seconds before his hopes are dashed, as the man to Riko’s right stands, removes the Raven across from Neil with a touch to the shoulder, and takes the seat across the table.

He’s unfamiliar, but the stark three on his cheekbone is more than enough introduction, and Hyde comes to attention under the table’s edge.

“You look familiar,” Jean Moreau says, his accent thick. Neil shrugs.

“If you watched Kathy’s show, that was me,” he says.

“Hm,” Moreau says. “And what was your name? Alex? Chris? Stefan?”

Neil’s breath freezes, chokes, until it’s Hyde who is breathing for the both of them, hackles raised, growl rumbling through his chest.

One name would be chilling, but almost funny. Two, a problem. Three means that they’re caught, and they aren’t sure yet who’s done it.

“It’s Neil,” they say through numb lips.

“You don’t look much like a Neil,” Moreau says, and the worst thing is that he doesn’t even look _triumphant_ at catching them. Just bored.

“That’s on my mother,” Neil lies. “She named me.”

“Oh, how is she doing, by the way?” Riko asks from down the table. Neil looks up, and Riko’s expression— _there’s_ the triumph that they’ve been looking for.

There’s a sharp rap on the table, one that rattles a few plates and glasses, cutting off any response Neil might have made.

“Don’t antagonize my team, Riko,” Dan says once all attention is on her, and her voice is steel. “This isn’t the place.”

Riko smiles lazily, but he’s no longer looking at Neil, and that’s about all Neil cares about.

He drops one hand to Hyde’s back, digs his fingers into the thick fur, for once not crisscrossed with the weight of a harness. The conversation at the table—all sharp words and sharper implications—goes on without him. He doesn’t want to be involved, but he doesn’t dare lose track of the conversation, for fear of what Riko might reveal.

“—interrupt me, Doe,” Jean is saying, and Neil would keep avoiding the conversation, even given the odd name, except for the sharp, offended noise Nicky makes. It draws his attention back, just in time to see Andrew laugh loudly at what must have been a barb.

“Points for trying,” Andrew allows, his smile glittering, “but here’s some advice: you can’t cut down someone already in the gutter.”

 _:always somewhere lower,:_ Hyde disagrees privately, and Neil breathes, swallows bile and a spike of phantom pain like he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t disagree.

“And how about your new child?” Riko says, and Hyde bridles at the cruelty lurking in his voice. “He’s been very quiet, for how spirited he was at Kathy’s.”

“Leave him alone,” Matt rumbles, but Riko doesn’t stop.

“Maybe that was just a show for the crowd,” he says, and Neil can feel the intensity of his gaze, for all that he isn’t looking at Riko. “Hello there, are you just going to ignore me?”

Nicky is gripping Neil’s thigh under the table, his fingers grasping so hard Neil thinks that he might bruise. Neil is returning the favor with interest though, digging the nails of his left hand into the back of Nicky’s right so savagely it wouldn’t surprise him to find he’s drawn blood.

Still, Neil can’t help his gaze flickering to Riko’s face.

“What a coward,” Riko says, and his eyes are glittering. “Just like his mother.”

Neil stops counting, tilts his head slightly to look assessingly at Riko, free hand falling from his lap to rub at the base of Hyde’s ears. He savors the phantom-smell of _:gunsmoke-and-gasoline:_ , brave and brash, at the back of his throat.

Nicky’s hand spasms on his leg, but it barely registers.

A coward? Their mother never stood her ground when she could run, but that has never been the same thing as cowardice. If Riko doesn’t know that, though, that’s on him. Hyde’s tongue lolls as he laughs silently by Neil’s side, his amusement just as sharp as his encouragement.

“I understand,” Neil says to Riko, his tone conversational. “Being in the public eye your whole life must have sucked. Always a commodity, never worth a damn as a person, your whole family agreeing you’re useless off the court. Sounds tough—Kevin and I talk about it and your infinite and overdramatic abandonment issues all the time.”

“Neil,” Kevin says, panic in his voice. Neil ignores him, and keeps going, fury drawing his lips back in what the ignorant might mistake for a smile.

“So I get it—it’s not _completely_ your fault that you’re immature and have delusions of grandeur. I get that you’re incapable of holding a civil conversation with other people, even though _every_ other person in this goddamn room can. What I don’t get is why you think that the rest of us should be obligated to put up with your bullshit just because you’ve never realized that you’re not _actually_ the center of the universe. Pity only earns you so much leeway, and you ran out about seven insults ago. So please, _please_ , why don’t you just shut the fuck up and leave us alone if you’re not capable of being an adult today.”

The whole table is a silent sea of stares and dropped jaws, Raven synchronicity long forgotten. Riko’s expression is nothing short of murderous, but that doesn’t matter. Neil is riding too high to be bothered, his teeth bared and his challenge laid down. He can break down about this later.

Instead, he just composes himself, before leaning forward and looking down the table to Dan. “Dan, I was _trying_ not to be antagonistic. I even said please.”

Dan looks shocked. “Matt,” she says, voice unsteady, “Oh my God, Matt, get Coach.”

Matt leaves almost before she’s finished speaking.

“You cannot say things like that,” Moreau says, and Neil looks back at him, curling his lip ever so slightly at the appalled censure in Moreau’s voice.

“I just did. If he didn’t want to hear it, he shouldn’t have asked me to talk. I was perfectly happy not saying anything.”

Moreau looks horrified, verging on hysterical, as he turns to Kevin and says, in French, “What the fuck is this?”

“His personality,” Kevin replies drily. “It’s a flaw we’re learning to live with.”

“ _Live with_?” Moreau hisses, like the idea offends him. “No. You were to discipline him. You should have dealt with this two weeks ago when he started stepping out of line. Why does he still not know his place?”

Kevin looks startled at Jean’s vehemence. “Neil _has_ no place in Riko’s games,” he says blankly. “He’s a Fox.”

“He is _not_ ,” Moreau snarls.

Hyde snaps his teeth in irritation at this byplay, and Neil strokes a firm hand down his brother’s back. There are other ways.

“You know,” he says idly, his own French pure Paris compared to Moreau and Kevin’s Marseille, “I’m pretty sure the contract I signed was with Palmetto State University.”

Moreau startles, turning to stare at Neil, but his outrage quickly wins out over surprise.

“A contract changes nothing!” he snaps. “Did you forget who bought you?”

Neil’s fingers spasm on Hyde’s shoulders. “Bought me,” he repeats softly, furiously. “ _Nobody_ bought me.”

They’re unarmed, the knives Hyde normally carries left at Palmetto with his harness. It had seemed like a bad idea, to come to this banquet armed. Right now, Neil just wants _:hunting-sharpness.:_

It’s a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s never wanted a weapon like this before.

“What the hell is going on?” Wymack’s voice cuts through the buzz of anger.

Neil turns to find Wymack behind his chair, expression thunderous. Matt, coming up behind him, moves towards his seat, but does not take it.

Moreau doesn’t bother to reply to Wymack, instead turning to Riko and saying something in a rapid flurry of what must be Japanese. Whatever it is, it wipes the fury off of Riko’s expression, and instead Riko turns an intent look on Neil and Kevin for a long moment before replying.

Jean just makes a helpless gesture, but Kevin cuts in with something, his voice cautious.

Wymack, clearly not interested in letting his players have any more conversations with Ravens, cuts in. “Up,” he says. “Abby’s finding us a new table.”

Neil is more than happy to be leaving. Moreau, though, has just finished his conversation, and as Neil pushes his chair, in, Moreau beckons him closer.

“Riko will speak to you later,” he says, sharp and to the point. “I recommend being respectful if you don’t want the whole world to know you’re the Butcher’s son.”

The sound of his father’s title is like a punch to the stomach, and he recoils. But the sound Kevin makes at his side is worse. Neil freezes for a second, and the instant Kevin starts to speak again, Hyde shoves him roughly.

“Don’t,” Neil says, finally, voice rough, and he’s not sure who he’s speaking to.

“You can’t be—” Kevin starts, and Neil bares his teeth, swallows the hint of a growl in his throat.

“I said _don’t_ ,” he snaps, turning away to follow Wymack.

“Run along then,” Moreau says. “It’s what you’re best at, after all.”

Neil laughs, sharp and hysterical and silent, and whispers to Hyde, _:found-bloodstain/missed-kill.:_ Hyde presses close to his side, close enough that if they were ordinary, their legs would tangle with every step, as they leave the Ravens behind.

The Foxes take their new seats at the coaches’ table quietly, and in much the same order, except that Kevin refuses to leave an empty space for Hyde.

 _:keep watch?:_ Hyde asks, as he takes up a position behind Neil’s chair.

 _:agreement,:_ Neil replies, just as Kevin catches his chin in an iron grip, turning his face so that Kevin can examine him.

Neil gives him a moment to look, just until recognition sinks in, and then wraps his hand around Kevin’s wrist—his right, fortunately for him—and presses his thumb into the space between the bones until Kevin flinches and lets go.

“Later,” he says in French, when Kevin opens his mouth. “Not here, and not now.”

“But—”

“ _Later_.”

It takes Kevin practically running from the table, and what is doubtless no small amount of vodka to calm his nerves, but he doesn’t bring up the topic again. Neil keeps his mouth shut throughout dinner, letting the other Foxes keep up a conversation with the coaches.

After they eat, Kevin sets out, seemingly intent on talking to every team but the Ravens, and hauls Neil and Andrew along behind him. It’s interesting enough, talking about old games and pro leagues, almost enough to distract Neil and Hyde from the fury-fear pulsing between them.

Or at least, it is right up until Kevin introduces Neil to Derek Walker, captain of the Wilkes-Meyers Hornets, and his wolfsister.

Seri Dereksister is a standard grey-on-white, perhaps a handspan taller than Hyde at the shoulder, but built on more elegant lines, almost dainty. There’s a neat, pretty collar around her neck, and she looks like she belongs here, making nice with humans.

Hyde barely looks at her before he murmurs _:disdain:_ and returns to watching the crowd for Ravens.

Neil agrees, but he rolls his shoulders, shakes Derek Serisbrother’s hand and allows Kevin to pretend that anyone in their group is normal.

It’s fine, just another conversation with another NCAA captain, albeit with an extra person’s body language to watch, right up until it isn’t.

Neil hasn’t been part of a pack for over a year now, and no konigenwolf has ever tried for his allegiance, but he knows the instant Seri Dereksister begins to push her packsense on them.

She’s nowhere near strong enough to compel him or Hyde separately, let alone together, but it’s _irritating_ , a teeth-grinding pressure against the edges of his mind, an unwanted and unasked for imposition. He can feel Hyde tensing at his side, hackles beginning to rise.

“Quit it,” he snaps, finally, with a _:whipcrack:_ of intent to back it up. It cuts through Derek and Kevin’s conversation, both of them turning to stare at Neil. Seri herself flinches, whines, but soon Kevin and Derek are back to talking, and it’s not long before the pressure is back, as insistent as before.

“I told you to _quit that_ ,” Neil repeats, as Hyde unsheathes the edge of their strength, snapping their shields to adamantine in her face.

This time Derek startles, just like his sister does. Neil feels no sympathy, though he imagines it feels rather like having a door slammed directly on your nose and fingers.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Derek says, feelingly, turning to stare at Neil.

“I told her to stop,” Neil says. “We don’t need a pack, and neither Hyde nor I appreciate attempts at conscription.”

Derek stares, and Neil stares back, tightening his jaw and refusing to back down, even as the other man huffs an incredulous laugh.

“Man, I knew Palmetto was fucked up but,” he shakes his head. “Are you kidding? You don’t even have a pack? What the fuck are you doing?”

“We’re doing fine, thanks,” Neil bites out. “I don’t see why it should bother you.”

“Of course it should bother me! You have no pack, no konigenwolf to—”

“Dan’s enough of a queen bitch for us, thanks,” Neil snaps, his temper beyond frayed. “Now if  your sister doesn’t stop pushing on my brother and I, and both of you don’t start minding your own goddamn business, I will not be responsible for either of our actions.”

“We’re just trying to _help_ ,” Derek says, and there’s now an edge of _that_ to the pressure on their mind, and Neil bares his teeth in warning. They don’t need pity. He’s telling the truth—Dan is more than enough pack-leader for them to belong.

“You can barely hold on to your own pack,” Neil says, and it’s a guess but by the flinch it earns, he’s right. “We’re definitely more than you can handle.”

Kevin, lips thin at yet another display of how ungovernable Neil and Hyde are, makes his excuses. Andrew is still smiling, looking delighted by the trouble.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Kevin hisses to Neil as they leave Derek and his sister behind.

“We’re Foxes,” Neil says, tucking his hands into his pockets and trying to cool his temper. “Not Hornets. And we didn’t like how he was trying to recruit us.”

Kevin stares at him for a long moment, before shaking his head and moving on.

Then Moreau calls him away, into a locker room where Riko is waiting, and the whole sordid story comes out, every word of it worse than the last. It’s only Matt’s timely intervention that keeps violence from breaking out, though Neil doesn’t know, given how tenuous their hold on their temper is, if it would have been Riko or him and Hyde who attacked first.

Overall, it’s a terrible night. Only the weight of their phone in one pocket, the memory of their bargain and their own spiteful will keep them from running.

* * *

Kevin is sitting at the middle of the court when they arrive, and Neil pauses, staring at him, at the fox paw he’s sitting on.

 _:i don’t want to do this,:_ he says softly, and Hyde presses closer, in both mind and body.

 _:young wolf facing boar,:_ Hyde says, just as soft, and offers his own chilly focus to Neil, who breathes it until it slows his heart and he can move again. He drops his bag on the bench, absently noting where Andrew is running the stairs, and they walk onto the court together.

 _:slippery!:_ Hyde says, skittering a little across the polished wood floor. _:how do you—:_ he sends a tangled series of sense-images, all speed and motion and tight cornering. Neil, in spite of the way he can feel Kevin staring at him, has to laugh a little.

In Millport, he and Hyde spent their time in the bleachers, or out in the desert, and so this is Hyde’s first time on a court floor.

 _:carefully,:_ he says, and then, _:court shoes, extra traction.:_ Hyde huffs, picking up and placing his feet carefully, as they make their way across the court to where Kevin is waiting. Kevin watches them, but doesn’t speak, not even when Neil and Hyde come to a stop, just in front of him.

Neil looks down at him for a long minute, and then asks, “Why does Riko think he bought me?”

Kevin doesn’t reply for a long moment, just stares at Neil and Hyde, like he can pick out the shape of Nathaniel in Neil’s face.

“Tell me you aren’t him,” Kevin says, finally. “Not Nathaniel.”

Hyde leans against Neil’s leg, a little irritated, and Neil just lifts his chin slightly, a display of bravado he’s not sure he feels.

“It doesn’t matter who I was,” he says, ignoring the way Kevin flinches at the tacit confirmation. “I’m Neil now.”

 _:full-grown, sharp teeth and swift legs,:_ Hyde agrees. Judging by the miserable look on Kevin’s face, though, he doesn’t think the same.

“It’s not that simple,” he says. “Why are you even here?”

Neil tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels a little, raising his eyebrows. Hyde laughs in his head at the deliberate nonchalance of the posture, sharp and crisp as autumn. “You scouted me,” he says, with a hint of exaggerated patience. “I didn’t _ask_ to be here.”

“But you _are_ ,” Kevin says, sounding aggrieved. “ _Why_?”

Neil shrugs, relaxes his posture into something more natural. “We were desperate. When I realized you didn’t know who I was—we needed a place to be safe, for a little while. To regroup.”

“A place to _regroup_ ,” Kevin repeats, sounding astonished. “You’re a fucking idiot. I can’t believe your mother agreed to this.”

Neil tilts his head back to look up at the dazzling lights of the stadium, and breathes. For once he can’t taste his mother’s name on his tongue. Just the sharp grief of his own. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“My mother is dead,” he says, and the _:emptiness:_ in his head almost doesn’t hurt. Hyde whines softly, pressing close to Neil’s hip. “She died last year, and I buried her on the coast.”

He looks back at Kevin, who is staring at him, mouth open like he wants to protest.

“We don’t have anything, Kevin,” Neil says, suddenly tired. “I signed, because we gambled on you not recognizing me, and that it was unlikely you knew what my family did.”

“How could we not recognize you?” Kevin asks, and the corners of Neil’s mouth turn down. He lowers one hand to Hyde’s back, loosening a knife from where it rests over his brother’s spine. He doesn’t like the sound of that—that thoughtless _we_ , like Kevin still doesn’t remember that he and Riko are not one.

 _:familiar,:_ Hyde says, but there’s no laughter in his voice, and he sidles a little closer, until Neil’s hand falls easily over the blade.

“I didn’t know that my father and the Moriyamas worked together until I came here,” Neil says with a shake of his head.

“ _Worked together_ ,” Kevin says, sounding offended and all together too much like Riko for comfort.

 _:repeat, repeat, repeat,:_ Hyde says, acid. _:bluejay twittering?:_

Neil swallows his amusement, and keeps his hand light over the knife. Kevin might be a disaster, but that hardly makes him any more trustworthy.

“My mother never explained why we were running,” he says, keeping his eyes on Kevin, ready for one wrong twitch. “I didn’t ask—I was just happy to get away. We didn’t talk about anything real after that. Just the weather, or the culture wherever we were, maybe about where we were headed. She didn’t say anything meaningful until she died, and even then, she didn’t say anything about my father or the Moriyamas. If she had, do you think we’d even _be_ here?”

Kevin is still staring at him, but Neil can see the impression his words are making.

“So,” he says. “Tell me the truth.”

Kevin’s expression is tight, but he drums his fingers on the court floor for a moment, before standing. He takes a breath, and then explains.

“Your father is Lord Kengo’s right hand, the weapon in his arsenal. He holds his territory for the Moriyamas. His job is to keep the empire in line, and to take the fall if the Feds come calling.” Kevin takes a slow breath. “You were never going to inherit that—Lord Kengo handpicks all his people. He was going to have your father kill you to prove his loyalty, but the master suggested a way for you to be put to work instead. Your mother enrolled you in Little League so you could learn the game. The day you met us was your audition.”

“What,” Neil says. Kevin’s explanation makes sense, like rearranging an anagram into a sensible phrase, but it’s so distant, so alien to the world Neil has lived with since he was a child.

 _:always a lower place,:_ Hyde whispers, with a kind of black amusement, and Neil numbly agrees.

“You were supposed to be like me,” Kevin says. “Another gift. Another player for the master. You had two days to win him over—an initial scrimmage to show your potential and a second, to see if you could adapt, implement his instructions and criticisms. If he decided you weren’t worth his time, you were to be killed by your father.”

“How did I do?” Neil asks. The grim lightness of his voice is all Hyde, but Kevin doesn’t seem to notice.

“Your mother wasn’t about to risk failure,” he says. “She took you after the first day and disappeared overnight. You never made it to the second practice.”

Neil stares at Kevin for a long minute, his hand still ready over the knife. It’s almost unbelievable, to find that his father—monstrous and indomitable—had a collar and someone else held the leash. That Neil was supposed to play exy from the beginning, that what he thought was his and his mother’s only escape was really just a slightly longer rope to hang themselves with.

“Fuck this,” he finally says, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away. Nausea and blank shock make his stomach roll, pairing badly with Hyde’s rage and fear.

“Nathaniel, wait!” Kevin says, grabbing at Neil’s arm. The touch of his fingers is like an electric shock, and for a moment, Neil is afraid his heart might stop.

“Don’t call me that,” he snarls, ripping his arm from Kevin’s grip and backing away. Hyde is growling _:salt-spray-and-burning!:_ in his head, offended at Kevin’s presumption, at his denial of who Neil is.

He only stops moving when he’s well out of Kevin’s reach, wrapping his arms around himself. When Kevin tries to follow, Hyde shoulders him back, growling.

Neil breathes, trying to understand what he’s learned, the way everything has changed. If his mother hadn’t taken him, if they hadn’t run, he would have been a Raven. Would have been allowed to play Exy, would have worn the 3 tattoo that marks Jean Moreau’s face.

He almost wants to resent the lost opportunity, the long gone chance to learn from the best, to be the best. But he knows the price now—in blood and in pain and in injury. He would have been famous, but he would have been chained down and destroyed too.

And.

Neil drops one hand, chirrups a whistle between this teeth. Hyde relaxes from his blocking posture, returning to Neil’s side, rubbing his face against Neil’s hand, until Neil scratches him under the chin. Kevin doesn’t move past where Hyde stopped him, just stares at them both.

And there would never have been Hyde, growing from _:fresh-grass-and-blood-and-sterile:_ to _:sage-and-gasoline:_ , wild and practical and half of Neil’s self.

He spent eight years running, but at least then, Neil was free. Now Riko knows who he is, and it feels like a choke-collar tightening around his neck. Moreau said Neil would never be a Fox, Riko had all but declared Neil stolen property. They’ll never let him go.

 _:will not bow,:_ Hyde declares, and it’s hard to tell if the copper tang in his voice is defiance or fear. _:will not be taken, will not be dragged, will_ not _.:_

“No,” Neil agrees in a whisper. “We won’t,”

Kevin frowns, looking worried. “You should run,” he says, and oh, he’s right, and Neil wants to.

“I can’t,” he says, instead, and moves his fingers to rub deep pressure circles behind Hyde’s ears, to dig into his ruff. It doesn’t calm either of them, but it at least gives Neil something to do, Hyde something to focus on. “I ran for eight years, and even when my mother was alive, it was horrible. Where would I go now?”

“Anywhere!” Kevin says, and there’s something a little wild around his eyes, like he desperately wants that to be the answer.

Neil huffs a laugh. “ _Anywhere_ is hard when you have a sibling to feed and no connections to get you work.” Kevin flinches, just a little, and Neil shrugs. “Andrew thinks I’m safest here, something about it being hard for someone to get rid of me when the Foxes are in the news every other week.”

“You’re a security risk,” Kevin says, baldly. “Notoriety can’t save you. You know too much—if you talk to the wrong people, your father’s territory becomes useless. They knew your mother would never dare talk to the Feds, but you’re a child, and unpredictable. They have no idea what you’ll do.”

 _:pigs,:_ Hyde comments, an idle thought while his attention is on Kevin, his body tense to block if Kevin makes any move towards them again. Neil pushes gently at Hyde’s side with his knee, but doesn’t disagree.

Not talking to the Feds did always have a lot more to do with hating the police than any lack of daring on his mother’s part.

“The master wants to make you a salvage project,” Kevin continues, not allowing Neil to interrupt. “He wants to sign you to Edgar Allan in the spring. So long as you keep quiet and fall into the Raven line, he won’t tell the main branch he’s found you.”

Hyde bares his teeth, hackles rising, and Neil breathes in, as the image of the Ravens and their eerie synchronicity blooms in his mind. A hive mind in action, the reins held tight in a cruel hand.

It’s a familiar shape.

 _:never,:_ Hyde swears. _:never!:_

“I’m not going to be a Raven,” Neil says. “Never.”

“Then run,” Kevin says, and he sounds miserable. “It’s the only way you can escape this.”

Neil plants his feet, and breathes, lowers a hand to smooth Hyde’s fur in a long stroke from brow to the base of his tail. His heart is galloping in his chest, and he can feel the telltale bumps of scars under Hyde’s fur.

 _:salt-spray-and-burning:_ Hyde says, a firm, brave naming that sends Neil three thousand miles and over a year away, stumbling down the side of the highway, lost as always and as found as he’s ever been. He wants a cigarette, that closest scent he can find to the name of the woman who kept him alive for almost half his life. He wants to run. Hyde is trembling under his fingers, ready to bolt. But.

“No,” he says, and locks his knees.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Kevin says sharply.

“We’re not running,” Neil says, voice firm. “If the Moriyamas think we’re a threat, they’ll send people after us. My mother and I could barely stay ahead of my father. What makes you think that Hyde and I can outrun his boss?”

“You’d at least have a _chance_ ,” Kevin says.

Neil snorts, digs his fingers into Hyde’s fur, feels his brother shake, brave and afraid all at once. “A chance to do what? Die in some alleyway, all alone?” He looks down, traces the edge of the fox paw they’re standing on with his eyes, the shape of the key to the house in Columbia in Hyde’s fur with one finger. “If we were going to run, we should have done it back in August, before anything happened. Andrew warned us.”

He reaches out to Hyde, a gentle _:query,:_ that has Hyde huffing.

 _:holding ground,:_ Hyde agrees, firm as stone in spite of his fear. His brother is pragmatic, when sometimes Neil can be too hopeful, but this…

He crouches, one hand sliding down against Hyde’s shoulder, the other dropping to press flat against the pawprint. “Maybe we didn’t understand the stakes when we started, didn’t realize what we were risking. But it’s too late now.”

They both want this.

“We don’t want to run,” Neil says, looking up at Kevin. “We don’t want to be a Raven. We want to be Foxes, Neil Hydesbrother Josten and Hyde Neilsbrother. We want to take the Foxes to spring championships, to mean something. And when the Moriyamas come for us, we’ll do exactly what they’re afraid of. We’ll go to the FBI and spill everything we know. They can kill us then. It’ll be too late.”

They’re smiling a little, they can’t help it, a sharp, savage curl to their lips at the idea of winning over their own bodies. Kevin stares at them, and there’s something broken in his eyes.

“You should have been Court,” he says blankly.

Neil ducks his head slightly, deals sternly with the ache of _wanting_ Kevin’s words create, and stands from his crouch.

He’s not stupid—there was never even a chance. Neil Josten was never going to live long enough for that kind of career. Too many secrets, too many buried bodies, too many broken things.

They still wanted it, like breath, like air. That bright future that only Kevin saw. And now Kevin knows it’s all for nothing. No matter what happens, Neil Josten and Hyde will be dead in May.

“Will you still teach me?” Neil asks anyway.

“Every night.”

* * *

The second week of October comes far too fast for Neil or Hyde’s liking, but not liking has never changed anything in their life. Instead they bare their teeth, plant themselves, and when the time comes, they take to the court like they have everything to lose.

In the end, Kevin says _I’m satisfied_ , and they’re not quite sure if they’re pleased or offended.

* * *

They’re at a party store—Aaron having just shot down Neil’s idle idea to invite the upperclassmen to Halloween at Eden’s Twilight, and Andrew having challenged him to ask Matt what happened to him in Columbia—when Dan sends Neil one of her semi-infrequent texts.

_where r u guys?_

Neil sends her back the name of the store, and his phone buzzes again almost immediately.

_sthing important happened—txt me when ur otw back_

He messages her in the car, but the party store is only fifteen minutes from campus, and so he knocks on her door when they return, curious what she was calling ‘something important’. Nicky trails behind him, trying to convince him to try on the costume he bought for Neil.

He’d tried to get something for Hyde as well, but Hyde had bared his teeth in a silent, illustrative warning, and Nicky backed off.

Dan answers her door almost immediately, and her expression is unusually grim when she does.

“We have a visitor,” she tells them. “He’s looking for Andrew. I sent him to the coffee shop earlier, and I called him when Neil said you guys were on your way back. I’m actually kind of surprised he isn’t here already.”

“Is he important?” Nicky asks.

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Yeah, probably.” She looks like she’s about to say more, but the elevator dings, and she hesitates, looking down the hall at it.

Neil and Nicky turn to look as well, and a stranger steps out of the elevator. He’s plainly dressed, in a casual button-up and jeans, but the way he carries himself and his casual swagger have Neil and Hyde thinking _:cop:_ in unison before he’s taken ten steps.

“This is Officer Higgins,” Dan says once the cop is in hearing distance, “of the Oakland PD.”

 _:phone call!:_ flashes between Neil and Hyde in an instant, and Neil crosses his arms, shifting himself into Higgins’ path and meeting the cop’s eyes with a challenging stare.

“Oakland’s in California,” he says. “You’re a long way out of your jurisdiction, Officer.”

Higgins’ mouth twitches, but he doesn’t look away. Hyde murmurs begrudging approval—someone clearly taught this cop a little of how to deal with wolves and wolfsiblings, and, more to the point, made it stick.

“I’m not here on official business,” he says. “I just want to ask Andrew something. Do you mind introducing yourself, and your si—sibling?”

 _:stumble,:_ Hyde says, with snide amusement. It’s not the first time someone has made, or nearly made that mistake. Hyde’s always had a mental _:presence:_ more like that of a konigenwolf than any normal dog wolf.

“I’m Neil,” Neil says. “He’s Hyde.”

“He’s built like a military wolf,” Higgins says, cheerful and prying in the way that cops tend to be when they want you to like them. “If they came in miniature.”

Neil tilts his head slightly without breaking their locked gazes, deliberately noncommittal, and doesn’t bother to dignify the leading statement with a response. “Why do you want to talk to Andrew?” he asks instead, refusing to let Higgins sidetrack him.

Higgins just shrugs a little, seemingly resigned to not getting any more information from Neil. “I want to ask him something, when he can’t hang up on me. It’s important. Is he here?”

 _:important, but not official,:_ Hyde says, and yes, Neil had noticed that too. He doesn’t like it. Not when combined with the little they already know about what Higgins is investigating.

“Nicky,” he says, without looking. “Get Andrew.”

Nicky hesitates for a second, eyes flickering between Neil and Higgins, and then disappears into the cousins’ suite.

“Your pack?” Higgins asks, and Neil’s lip curls, just a little, at the prying.

“My teammate,” he says flatly.

With his gaze locked on Higgins’, Neil doesn’t see it when Andrew comes out of his suite, but Hyde does.  Andrew’s expression is breezy, a wide smile that’s at odds with the way he slams the suite door behind him upon seeing Higgins.

“I thought Nicky was making things up,” he says cheerily, leaning back against the door, one knee bent to rest his foot against it. “You’re a long way from home, Pig Higgins.”

“Andrew,” Higgins says, finally breaking his staring contest with Neil. “I need to talk to you.”

Hyde murmurs, _:mistake, easily distracted, could smash/flatten/run over:_ and Neil clicks his tongue softly, agreeing, and they turn slightly to watch the confrontation unfold.

“We’ve talked, remember?” Andrew says. “I told you not to try again.”

“You told me not to call you again,” Higgins corrects. “So I didn’t. Just give me a few minutes—for old times sake. I even flew all the way out here. Doesn’t that warrant me some consideration?”

Andrew just laughs, shaking his head. “You came out here because you’re on a witch hunt,” he says. “I already told you, I won’t help.”

“I was looking in the wrong place,” Higgins says. “I know that now. The investigation turned up nothing.”

“I said it wouldn’t,” Andrew says without sympathy, crossing his arms.

“I get it now, we were investigating the wrong person,” Higgins says, and even if Neil had wanted to leave, he couldn’t now. He’s unraveled his own portion of this mystery, but it’s not enough for him to have all the answers.

 _:curiosity kills,:_ Hyde says idly, but he’s listening just as intently as Neil is.

“I think we have the right person now,” Higgins continues, “but I can’t do anything without a complaint from a witness. None of the other kids will give me anything, they don’t trust me. You’re the only one I’ve got.”

Andrew goes still but for the rapid tapping of his fingers against his bicep.

“Kids,” he says. “ _Kids_ , plural. You only mentioned one last time Pig. How many has she had?”

“You wouldn’t care about the number unless there was something to find,” Higgins says, with the grimness of someone who is right and can find no satisfaction in it. “Yes or no, Andrew. That’s all I need. I give you a name, you tell me yes or no, and I promise I’ll leave.”

“You _promise_ ,” Andrew says, laughter in his voice, fingers still tap-tap-tapping their manic rhythm against his arm. “You’ll break your promise in a week, don’t pretend otherwise, Pig. Do I need to walk you out in order to make sure you leave, or should I—”

“Drake,” Higgins says. Just one word, one name, and it cuts Andrew off instantly. Higgins braces, as though readying himself for a violent reaction.

“How many kids, Pig?” Andrew asks.

“Since you? Six.”

Andrew kicks off the door in a single violent motion, almost shoving Higgins to the ground on his way to the stairs. Higgins hesitates for a second, blinks, and then follows.

The stairwell door slams behind them, and there’s a moment of silence in the hallway.

“This is going to be a problem,” Dan says, finally, turning to look at Nicky.

“Andrew will handle it,” Nicky says with a calm confidence that Neil and Hyde can’t bring themselves to share.

 _:six,:_ Hyde says, and he sounds a little troubled by it. Neil frowns a little, looking at the stairwell door, and touches Hyde’s shoulder gently.

They don’t know enough to get involved, and Oakland is too far away anyway.

Besides, they’ve never been much good at fixing things, have they.

“Was that _handling_ it?” Dan asks, sounding incredulous. “Who’s Drake, anyway?”

“Never heard of him.” Nicky says blithely, and then, “No, really, I’ve never heard of him. Cross my heart, hope to die, needles, all that stuff. Ease off the death glare, okay?”

Dan just frowns and leans against the wall, clearly willing to wait until Andrew gets back to find her answers.

 _:curious?:_ Neil asks Hyde, a little teasing, and the response is a wave of amused fondness, tinged with lingering suspicion.

They claim their own bit of wall, and neither they nor Dan speak a word. Dan is fulminating in her own bad mood, and they just spend the time idly vollying ideas back and forth.

It’s nearly ten minutes before Andrew comes back through the stairway door, and Dan is in full glower.

“Oh, do I get a welcoming party? Or is this the inquisition?” Andrew wonders aloud upon seeing the three of them, and they can practically _hear_ Dan’s temper snap as she steps into his way.

Andrew pauses, but raises his hands to her forearms in warning. If Dan pushes too hard, it’s clear he won’t hesitate to throw her out of his way.

“Why are the police looking for you?”

Andrew rocks back on his heels and then tilts his head back to smile up at Dan. “I’m not the one in trouble, oh captain my captain. Don’t worry. The pig is just too stupid to make his case without some outside help. It’s not your business, and I’d rather you didn’t make it your business.”

“Stop letting it interfere with my team, and I won’t have to,” Dan snaps back, before some of the tension goes out of her. “Do you need me to get Renee?”

“Oh Dan,” Andrew says, his smile winding broader. “I don’t need anyone.” He lets her go, sidestepping around her to make his way to his door. He turns to give Dan one last smile, and then says, cheerily, “Goodbye!” before entering the suite and slamming the door behind him.

Dan stares at the door for a moment before she mutters “ _Bastard_ ,” and turns to Neil.

“Come on,” she says.

Allison, Renee and Matt are waiting for them when they walk into the girls’ living room, all three of them sitting on the floor, eating sandwiches. Dan gestures towards the fridge, a silent offer for Neil to help himself, and while Neil has eaten, Hyde is always hungry.

 _:turkey?:_ Neil asks, examining the contents of the fridge.

Hyde, who has already found an empty space on the floor sends back his assent, and then, a little wistfully, _:bread?:_

Neil breathes a laugh, and agrees, quickly assembling a turkey sandwich that would be almost offensively bland to a human palate, nothing but a pile of plain turkey on white bread.

“How’d it go?” Matt asks as Neil leaves the kitchen to sit down next to Hyde.

“Higgins said he needed Andrew as a witness for something, but he wouldn’t say for what, and Andrew essentially told me to keep my nose out of it.”

Neil busies himself with ripping the sandwich into small pieces and hand-feeding them to Hyde, hoping Dan doesn’t decide to ask them if they know anything. What they know isn’t theirs to tell, after all. Andrew has kept their secrets, or at least, has kept Neil’s. They owe it to him to keep his in return.

Dan sighs, sounding just a little morose, and flops over to lie on her back, staring at the ceiling.

“I wish…” she says, trailing off, and then shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Neil finishes feeding the sandwich to Hyde and, a little desperate to change the subject, says, “Before I forget, Andrew said I could invite you all to the Halloween party at Eden’s Twilight. It’s the twenty-seventh.”

Dan sits back upright immediately, in an impressive display of abdominal strength.

“ _What.”_

* * *

It’s Saturday afternoon, and Matt, tired of being constantly blindsided with Neil’s patchwork knowledge of pop culture, has decreed that Saturdays, once Neil is back from Columbia, should be devoted to movies.

It’s usually a laid back affair, but today Neil is tense, still strung tight from a nightmare he doesn’t remember. Hyde is lying across his thighs and deliberately taking up the middle of the couch, keeping Matt out of easy touching distance.

The movie is something sci-fi, though Neil isn’t really paying attention, more occupied by the texture of his brother’s fur under his fingertips. The nightmare is finally loosening its grip when there’s a thunderous pounding on the door.

“Fuck!” Matt exclaims, diving for the remote and somehow knocking it off the table.

“I’ll get the door,” Neil says, slipping off the couch to the door. He’s expecting someone who’s found the wrong room by accident, but when he opens the door Nicky is on the other side, wild-eyed and reaching out as soon as Neil opens the door.

“Thank God,” he says, grabbing at Neil’s upper arms. “Help. Please.”

“What’s wrong?” Matt asks, having finally managed to pause the movie.

“I’m two seconds from being dead, that’s what’s wrong,” Nicky says, letting Neil go in order to look more fully at Matt. “Mom just called to wish Andrew and Aaron a happy birthday.”

Neil rubs his hands up and down his arms, moving quietly out of Nicky’s reach.

“And...that’s a problem?” Matt asks, looking confused. Nicky’s mouth moves silently in disbelief for a moment, before he collects himself, one hand rising to rub at the back of his head.

“Yeah, uh. We don’t really keep in contact with my family,” he admits. “Dad hasn’t spoken to me since he found out about Erik, though Mom calls every Christmas to ask if I’ve returned to God. I don’t think Aaron’s talked to them since Aunt Tilda’s funeral, and Andrew avoids them like they’re diseased. I think he and Dad had an argument when they met in juvie.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad, could it?” Matt asks. “I mean, your dad supported Andrew’s early release.”

“Yeah,” Nicky says, spreading his hands and  sounding a little wry. “Well.”

“What’s actually going on?” Neil asks as he walks over to lean against the back of the couch, tired of the circling around the problem. Nicky flinches a little.

“Well. Mom asked if we’d come home for Thanksgiving.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing!” Nicky says, flailing a little. “I hung up on her! What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to say yes, Nicky,” Matt says. “What the hell?”

“It’s not that easy! The offer depends on Andrew and Aaron going too, and Andrew will never agree.”

“Never know till you try,” Matt says.

Nicky’s mouth turns down sharply. “I think you misunderstand how much Andrew hates my parents.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Neil asks.

“Back me up?” Nicky asks, expression pleading. “If I asked him, he’d laugh me off or say no. But he listens to you, right? So maybe you can talk him into family dinner.”

“I can’t talk him into anything,” Neil says, reaching over the back of the couch to touch Hyde’s back. “All I did last time was tell him what I thought. Apparently he agreed with me. This is a lot more complicated, and honestly I shouldn’t even be involved.”

“Please, Neil,” Nicky says. “I haven’t been allowed back in that house since I came out. I know they think I’m doomed to burn in hell for eternity. I know I should just give up on them, but maybe this means that they’re coming around. Please. I miss my mom.”

Neil looks at Nicky and swallows hard. It burns. Nicky just looks at him, silent and beseeching.

This isn’t his family, isn’t his problem, isn’t his mother. His mother is buried far away, ash and bone and twisted metal in the California sand. She’ll never have a chance hate him for what he’s doing, and he will never have a chance to make amends to her.

It hurts, like teeth in his skin.

 _:keep watch?:_ he asks Hyde, who scrambles up, touching his nose to Neil’s shoulder.

 _:certain?:_ Hyde asks. _:don’t want block/defend/pack-touch?:_

Neil rubs gently under Hyde’s jaw. _:being brave,:_ he says. _:and—don’t trust cayenne-and-incense. watch?:_

Hyde sighs, resting his head heavily on Neil’s hand for a moment before he agrees.

“Wait here,” Neil tells Nicky, before heading for the door.

* * *

When Neil returns, his mind busy chewing over what he’s learned and what Andrew was willing to admit, he finds that Hyde has sprawled across the seats of the couch, Matt is making what looks like lunch, in spite of the fact that it’s late afternoon, and Nicky is still waiting, perched precariously on the arm of the couch.

 _:twitches like a rabbit,:_ Hyde comments, all lazy amusement. _:easy to unnerve, see?:_

He just barely shows his teeth, and Nicky quickly picks his feet up off of the couch and leans back, wobbling as his balance shifts unpredictably.

Neil just sighs, which draws Nicky’s attention and makes the man smile at him, nervous and hopeful.

“He has two conditions,” Neil says, and Nicky blinks, mouth opening to ask a question. Neil cuts him off with a sharp gesture, already tired of being put in the middle of the family dramatics. “Kevin and I have to come, and he won’t do it at Thanksgiving. Get your parents to agree to having us, and to move the date, and he’ll go.” A grin starts to spread across Nicky’s face, and Neil raises one finger, still not finished.

“ _My_ condition for coming,” he says, “is that Hyde’s with me.”

Nicky looks startled, and then considering, glancing at the ceiling as though it has the answers. His lips move silently for a moment, like he’s calculating something, and then he jumps up.

“We can make it work,” he says, excited. “I’ll call her. Maybe we can do next week—Sunday, I guess, since we’ll be coming back from Florida on Saturday. Sooner’s better. I don’t want Andrew to have time to change his mind.”

Neil privately thinks that Andrew’s probably never changed his mind on anything, ever, but he lets Nicky run out of the room anyway.

Once Nicky’s gone, he turns to look at Matt, and finds himself the focus of an assessing look.

“What?”

“Why are you so special?” Matt asks.

“I’m not,” Neil says.

“Bullshit,” is Matt’s amiable reply. “Andrew doesn’t give ground for anyone, but all the sudden he’ll do things if you just ask. What’s that about?”

“He’s high,” Neil offers tightly, making a circling gesture with one finger. “He probably thinks it’s funny.”

“Maybe,” Matt says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, want to finish the movie?”

Neil shakes his head. “I’m tired,” he says, before tapping at his thigh and whistling a single high note through his teeth. Hyde, stretched out on the sofa, looks over lazily.

 _:mockingbird,:_ he says, a little wry, before gathering himself and following Neil out of the living room.

 _:protective color,:_ Neil replies in the same tone, watching as his brother makes it up the ladder to their lofted bed in two quick bounds, settling on the sheets with a patient expression.

Neil follows, curling himself into Hyde’s side as soon as he makes it onto the bed, pressing so close it almost feels like he could bleed into Hyde’s skin just as much as he can bleed into Hyde’s mind.

It would be less complicated, if they were always one.

* * *

The ride to Nicky’s parents’ house is a tense one, and uncomfortable. Hyde might be slight for a bondwolf, given his shoulders just barely reach past Neil’s waist, but that doesn’t make him _small_. With three athletes already sharing the back seat, his addition makes it a tight fit.

The only relief on the trip is the Kevin-mandated stop at Excites, where he blithely spends more money on heavy racquets for Neil than Neil can think about without feeling faintly panicked.

And then they’re at the Hemmick house—two storeys, painted blue, with a manicured lawn and two cars in the driveway. It looks ordinary, which makes the tension in the car at the sight of it almost laughable.

The instant he and Hyde walk through the door, though, both of their hackles go up. It takes an act of focused will for Neil to lean his racquet against the wall by the stairs and let it go.

There’s nothing in particular to explain it—as far as they can tell it’s an entirely normal suburban home. But there’s something purely _wrong_ about it anyway. It’s just impossible to pinpoint. Maria and Luther seem perfectly ordinary, if entirely out of touch with Nicky’s life. The house itself is plain, but it’s not without personality, nor are there any of the subtle hallmarks of _wrong_ personality that Neil and Hyde have learned to notice over the years. If anything, it best resembles a gentler version of the photo-perfect over horror Neil knows from his childhood.

Given what Nicky’s shared about his parents, that’s not exactly surprising.

Still, Luther and Maria make no moves against any them during dinner. The food is fine, the conversation either stilted or boring, depending on the topic. Neil spends most of the time watching Maria and Luther, looking for a sign of what’s really going on, of what’s causing the _wrongness_. Hyde, seated like a sentry behind Neil’s chair, ignores the table entirely, listening intently to the sounds of the house, carefully cataloguing scents.

Towards the end of the meal, Andrew leaves his seat, heading inside, and Luther follows. The conversation that ensues sounds neither polite nor pleasant. Neil does his best not to eavesdrop. He might have convinced Andrew to allow Luther this chance to apologize, but that doesn’t mean it’s his place to hear all the details.

Practically, that means that Hyde listens avidly, and Neil doesn’t focus too hard on what his brother hears.

Eventually, Luther comes back, looking tired and somehow even narrower in the face, and Neil and Hyde keep listening, sorting through the ambient sounds of the house as best they can, tracking Andrew.

As far as they can tell, he paces the kitchen, his footsteps sharp and staccato. Neil has sudden visions of his new practice racquet and Luther’s car having an ugly meeting. After a while though, Andrew seems to still for a moment, and then the house creaks in a way that’s unmistakably someone going up the stairs.

It’s harder to follow Andrew’s movements after that, but Hyde keeps his ears pricked, and Neil lends most of his attention to it as well.

Suddenly— _:shattering-glass! blood!:_ Hyde snaps, and Neil flicks his eyes over the table. It’s an unnecessary reaction, the only one who’s gone missing this whole time is Andrew. That, with what Hyde is saying—he hisses a curse to himself under his breath.

“I’ll clear the table,” he says, standing abruptly.

“Let me help,” Aaron says, sounding desperate to leave the awkward conversation behind. Neil doesn’t bother to argue, just grabbing a few of the plates on the table and heading into the kitchen, Hyde ranging ahead. Aaron follows behind, and after a beat, so does Kevin.

As expected, Andrew is nowhere to be found.

 _:blood,:_ Hyde says, the scent growing stronger. _:and—uncertain/unwelcome.:_

Neil hisses a breath through his teeth. He wouldn’t put it past Andrew to hurt himself while smashing something valuable to Maria and Luther, but. For all that he was trying to avoid listening in on Luther and Andrew’s conversation, he heard it all anyway.

It didn’t ring true.

He puts the dishes down in the sink, runs a hand across Hyde’s shoulder to palm a knife out of one of the harness pockets, and snatches his racquet from the wall where he left it.

Turning back to the kitchen, he grabs Aaron by the wrist, yanking him to follow. Neither he nor Hyde know what’s going on, but they’re not stupid. They might not have a pack, but they’ll at least take backup, and given what they know of Kevin, he’d hesitate.

“What the _fuck—_ ” Aaron snaps, but Neil and Hyde quiet him with a rumble of a growl, _:willing:_ him to understand as they haul him out into the hall.

It must work, because Aaron doesn’t say anything more as he follows them, and doesn’t even turn away when Neil has to let him go in order to be quiet on the stairs.

Hyde leads the way, and halfway up he freezes for an instant, before abandoning silence to lunge up the stairs, full-tilt.

 _:stranger-wolf!:_ he snaps in explanation, already long gone. Neil snarls back silently, keeps half his mind attuned to his brother as he continues making his way up the stairs, Aaron behind him.

Hyde lashes out before he even clears the top step, a _:hammerblow:_ of mental force, aimed tightly at the stranger-wolf’s mind.

The stranger-wolf flinches, recovers swiftly, and Neil can all but see it as the other wolf—big and heavy and built on military lines—begins a lunge.

Hyde doesn’t let him. Another, fiercer _:strike:_ of mental force has the stranger-wolf stumbling, looking disoriented, and Hyde takes ruthless advantage of that to combine yet a third mental strike with his own lunge, ramming the stranger-wolf off his feet.

Neil reaches the top of the stairs and pauses, half-hidden from the fight. Breathes, and then joins his mind to Hyde’s.

They slam down another _:hammerblow:_ on the stranger, stunning him for long enough to set their teeth to his throat. He struggles, but they growl, dig in their teeth as a warning until he subsides.

Then it’s just a matter of _:will:,_ which they have in spades, to turn the force of their mind into a cage, blocking the wolf from speaking to his sibling. They don’t bother being gentle, instead tearing into the stranger-wolf’s mind to set their barrier.

(It’s a battered landscape, familiar in the shape of it’s scars, and they can’t help the whisper of _:litter-sib?:_ that they crush before the stranger can hear it. Before it can be more than a puppy-whine of recognition. This stranger _isn’t_. He’s simply familiar.)

It doesn’t take long to block the stranger-wolf from his brother—his brother has already pushed him away. They just make the barrier impermeable from _both_ sides.

Then, keeping the stranger-wolf pinned with one body, turn the other to the door. There’s the _thump-squeak_ of abused mattress springs, and they take a moment to consider, to sort impressions.

Then they hand over the racquet in their hands to _:ink-and-ozone:_ and prepare. They set their feet, tighten their mind and their jaws on stranger-wolf when he struggles, smash a heel into the door.

“Jesus—” _:ink-and-ozone:_ says, but it’s irrelevant. They recover, kick again, and this time the door gives way.

It takes them a split second to take in the room, two steps to recover balance and snap open their knife, and by that time it’s over.

 _:ink-and-ozone:_ , without their delay, has moved past them and slammed the racquet into the stranger’s face with a single, savage strike. Blood spatters wildly, across _:ink-and-ozone:_ , all over the wall, into the window curtains and across the pane. They can scent it, the faint trace of iron from earlier thickening into a blanket.

The stranger-wolf twists, trying to free himself, claws at the cage they’ve cast around his mind. It only ever prevented the stranger from speaking to his brother. It doesn’t stop the backlash of the broken bond. They understand. They just don’t _care_ , as they clamp down on him and _:snarl:_ until he stops writhing.

He’s screaming at them, _:hate:_ and _:pain:_ and _:fury:_ but that’s fine. They don’t mind. Instead, they just scream their own _:hate:_ back at him, savage enough that he shatters like the fragile, makeshift thing he is.

And then they _shake_ , until their mouth is full of blood and fur, and the stranger-wolf is as dead as his sibling. They’re alight with rage, black as ice and hot as iron, and the taste of flesh and lifeblood in their mouth does nothing to dim it.

They let go of the corpse, and they follow themself into the room, breathing in the thick stink of blood and thinking. The shape of things, if not the details, are coming clear, and they _hate_ . They don’t have all the pieces, not yet, but they have enough. For a second they contemplate stalking back downstairs, the shape of that hunt, eeling around _:cayenne-and-incense:_ in search of prey.

 _:steel-sugar-chemical:_ is laughing.

It’s muffled, but they can hear it, and it snaps the world back into living focus. They can’t kill Luther and Maria. Someone is going to call the police soon, and the blood in their mouth is going to get them into enough trouble. They close and pocket the knife.

There’s the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs— _:vodka-old-paper:_ , probably, curiosity finally overcoming his cowardice—and they _move_ . One body to the mattress by _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ , snatching up a bloodied sheet to cover him. The other to the door, to stand guard. There’s a thump, and they snarl at the intruder, hands busy wrapping the sheet around shaking shoulders.

Unsurprisingly, it’s _:vodka-old-paper:_ who has has flinched in the doorway, his face pale and covered in horror. He stares at the room for a long moment, and they stare back, growling. It’s a fair kill, it’s _:their:_ kill.

Then he turns and runs out the door, probably on his way to call the police.

At least that way he’ll be useful. They don’t care. What matters is here, now, keeping a bloody sheet around _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ , watching _:ink-and-ozone:_.

They pace as they sit and keep watch over _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ , taking in the scents that whisper under the blood—fear and detergent and fury and lust and whiskey. They keep an eye on _:ink-and-ozone:_ as they move and sit guard. He’s clutching the racquet with white-knuckled hands, staring at the blood with empty eyes.

If he doesn’t wake up out of the shock soon, they’ll have to do something. Wallowing is unhelpful, and in this case, guilt is unwarranted.

While they wait, they investigate the rest of the room, finding and then carefully stepping around broken glass, examining old trinkets. It doesn’t take long. The room isn’t big, and with so much of it covered in blood, there’s not much else interesting in it.

When they turn back, _:ink-and-ozone:_ is still unresponsive, and _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ has yet to stop laughing.

They whine, just a little, because the sound is _awful_.

Then they move to fix what they can, taking a curving path to approach _:ink-and-ozone:_ , one that lets them skirt both the body and the broken glass across the floor.

 _:ink-and-ozone:_ doesn’t even look up, and they huff a little, annoyed at how deeply struck he is by this. They paw at his leg, and when that doesn’t draw his attention, they whine and nudge his face sharply, smearing the spatter on his cheek.

He blinks, leans away from them, gives them a startled look. That’s fine. Startled is better than blank.

 _:messy kill,:_ they say calmly. _:but appropriate._ not _appropriate time/place/event_ _for shock/blank.:_

 _:ink-and-ozone:_ stares at them, and they curl a lip in annoyance at his blindness to basic concepts.

 _:kill-necessity!:_ they snap at him, trying to jar him back to sense. _:pack responsibility! defend/protect!:_

“Got quiet,” _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ says suddenly from the bed, and they’re thoroughly distracted, though they remain at _:ink-and-ozone:_ ’s side as well. _:ink-and-ozone:_ doesn’t notice losing their full attention. His eyes have snapped to _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ as well.

They watch as _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ slowly uncurls his fingers from the headboard. He pauses for a moment, and then plants his hands on the bed, starts to push himself upright, only to stop halfways there and laugh a little. “Well, that’s unpleasant. I don’t think I like that at all.”

They can feel him trembling, but the vicious brightness of his grin doesn’t abate, mind and body running on two separate circuits. It takes him a moment, but before long he’s upright, the sheet slipping on his shoulders.

They tug it closer, and _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ lets them, looking faintly nonplussed. The expression is made worse by the blood smeared across his face, a gash on his temple that’s bled down his cheek to his jaw.

“I believe I’m concussed,” he says, noticing the way their eyes flicker to it. “Or my medication has a new side effect the doctors didn’t warn me about. If I throw up on you, it’s not completely intentional.”

“ _Andrew_ ,” _:ink-and-ozone:_ says, the name so strangled it’s barely recognizable. That doesn’t stop it from catching _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ , like a hook under the ribs. He reaches out one hand, fingers curling in demand, and _:ink-and-ozone:_ responds, scrambling onto the bed, closer and closer to _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ , until he flinches.

They manage to shove him forward to vomit _off_ the bed, before he starts to choke.

“Andrew,” _:ink-and-ozone:_ says, and he sounds hysterical, reaches out to cling like he’s still in shock. “Andrew, I—he didn’t—”

 _:sugar-steel-chemical:_ ( _Andrew_ , they remember, a voice-name equivalent to that sweet-sharp smell) gasps, gags, spits off the bed and pushes himself back upright, his shoulders so tense that they remove their hand immediately, returning it to their lap, where they form it into a fist and _force_ themself to control their rage.

Voice-names help.

“Quiet,” Andrew rasps. “Be quiet. Look at me.” He takes a long moment to look over Aaron, fingers reaching out to twist in Aaron’s bloody shirt.

“It’s everywhere,” he says. “What did he do?”

“It’s not,” Aaron says. “It’s not mine. What did—”

“ _Answer_ me,” Andrew says, voice sharp. “What did he do?”

“I—”

Andrew reaches out a hand to touch Aaron’s temple, as though expecting an answering gash. “Did he,” Andrew asks, before wrapping his fingers in Aaron’s hair and _pulling_ , “touch you?”

“No,” Aaron finally says, and his voice sounds clear for the first time since he swung the racquet.

“I’m going to kill him,” Andrew says.

 _:already dead,:_ they say softly, and _:satisfaction:_ glitters through them, clean and glinting as broken glass.

“Is that why it’s quiet now?” Andrew asks rhetorically. “But no, that’s not who I meant. We won’t have to go anywhere, though. He’ll come to us.”

It takes a moment for them to process who he means, but he’s not wrong. Already, they can hear footsteps starting up the stairs, too many for it to be just one person.

It wouldn’t be _surprising_ if Luther was coming. They and _:ink-and-ozone (theirs):_ meted out violence quickly and efficiently, but it probably wasn’t actually quiet. And Luther knew. Luther _knew_.

They bare their teeth. They want the kill, they do, but Andrew has more right. They’re perfectly happy to let Andrew though, help him, hold Luther still and—

They _can’t_ —

They _should_ —

The two opinions clash, ring in dissonance for a head-splitting second, and then _them_ slides apart into _him_ and _me_. Neil blinks, taking stock of having only one body again, trying to cover the disorientation. He’s right though. They can’t let Andrew kill Luther, as fair and appropriate as it would be.

Hyde curls a lip, disagreeing. _:hate,:_ he says, all the fury of hunt-song behind the one word.

 _:even wolves can’t run forever,:_ Neil murmurs, because he hates too, but he has to be practical here, if his brother won’t be. They’re about to be in more than enough trouble for the blood in their mouth, without helping to shape another murder.

Hyde snaps at air, irritated at his own tactic turned against him. He doesn’t move though, even as they hear Kevin and his followers reach the top of the stairs.

Nicky, _:cayenne-and-incense:_ is the first to make it into the room, followed closely by Kevin. Kevin hesitates just inside the doorway, again. Nicky, though, only needs a second to take in the mess, and he’s rushing to the bed.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god, Andrew are you okay—”

 _:don’t,:_ Hyde snaps, lunging to put his body between Nicky and the bed. When that doesn’t deter Nicky from reaching out to Andrew, he growls sharply, and Nicky looks down, recoils from Hyde’s bloody teeth and wild eyes.

“What happened?” he asks, finally and even Neil can practically _smell_ his panic. “Andrew, Jesus, there’s so much blood, are you okay—”

“Nicky,” Andrew says, showing no interest in Nicky’s questions, “You have two seconds to get out of my way. I need to talk to your father.”

Hyde sidesteps around Nicky, and Luther’s _there_ , at the door, frozen and staring. He snarls, loud and vicious, and for a split second, Neil agrees. It should be Andrew’s kill, but surely they could just—

“One,” Andrew says, voice deadly.

“Nicky,” Neil and Hyde say together, eyes fixed on Luther. _:down.:_

Nicky’s knees fold, as though his mind had no input in the matter. His eyes are still wide and shocked, flickering panic-quick from the body on the floor to the stained sheet to the slow-drying blood on Andrew’s face.

And there’s Luther, right in Andrew’s line of view. There’s no way he missed Hyde’s reaction, no way he’s actually surprised, but he feigns it anyway at the sight of Luther.

“Oh, hey Luther,” Andrew says, and Neil feels the false lightness of his voice like poison in the vein. “You came to see! Saves me the trouble of going downstairs to look for you. Anyway, while you’re here, mind explaining what Drake’s doing here? I can’t wait—I’m sure the story’s good.”

Neil can only pay half-attention to the snarling between Andrew and Luther, or he’ll throw up. He and Hyde will examine their memories later, for the perspective.

Right now, Hyde strains his ears, tracking Maria on the lower level of the house. Neil occupies himself with watching Nicky’s appalled expression and Kevin’s nervy blankness until Hyde’s ears pick up the sound of sirens over the sounds of the house, under Andrew’s deadly words. Neil tilts his head, straining for the sound.

“Andrew,” he says, the instant his own ears confirm his brother’s keener ones. It gets them a sharp look for a moment, before Andrew hears the same thing. He hesitates for a split second, and then slides off his armbands in two efficient motions, dropping them into Neil’s lap.

“Get rid of these,” he says, sounding careless. Neil barely hears him, relying on Hyde’s better ears for sense. His eyes are caught on a flash of white on Andrew’s arm. The pale knottedness of scar tissue is familiar, and Neil reaches out, his fingers just brushing the underside of Andrew’s wrist.

Andrew’s other hand clamps down on his forearm like a vise, and there’s death in his eyes when Neil meets them.

Neil remembers the gut-punch pain of teeth in the meat of one shoulder, the needle-sharpness of fangs at shins. The unevenness of scarring under his fingertips is familiar.

He breathes, curls his fingers back to his palm. Andrew looks at him for a moment, and then lets go, gesturing carelessly at the wristbands.

“Get rid of them,” he repeats. “Pigs don’t like it when people like me have weapons.”

Neil’s pockets are only just deep enough for his own switchblade, and—he presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, phantom-tastes iron.

The pigs aren’t going to be very happy to find he has a weapon either.

 _:extraneous, helpful/unnecessary,:_ murmurs in the space between himself and his brother, dark and amused.

Instead of keeping the armbands, he extracts his blade from his pocket and leans over, tucking all of the weapons into the gap between box spring and bed frame.

“Andrew,” Neil says softly, when he straightens. _:sugar-steel-chemical.:_ He’s not sure what he wants to ask.

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

“Let’s none of us talk now,” he says, instead.

They sit in silence until the police arrive.

* * *

Actually being arrested is something of a novel experience for Neil, and he doesn’t enjoy a single second of it. Neither does Hyde, who makes his feelings known though the simple expedient of baring his teeth and growling nonstop.

The police wolves, when they’re called in, are massive, taller and broader than Hyde is, but that doesn’t stop them from hesitating when faced with Hyde’s ice-pale eyes, bloody teeth and _:raging:_.

Eventually, though, Neil and Hyde are corralled into police cars (separate ones, naturally and terribly) and taken to the police station. Neil is hustled into an interrogation room, Hyde to a kennel, which is about the closest thing the station seems to have to an interrogation room for wolves.

Neil sits for several long minutes in that interrogation room, toying idly with the handcuffs. They’re a standard model, Neil can pick them— _could_ pick them—in less than fifteen seconds. It’s been a while since he’s practiced, and, somewhat annoyingly, he’s not carrying tools.

Eventually an officer comes in—Neil thinks he was the one who was least affected by Hyde’s furious defense. He sits down, looking tired, and gives Neil an unimpressed once-over.

“Neil Hidesbrother Josten?” the officer asks, and Neil’s lips twitch.

“Hydesbrother,” he corrects, though the officer clearly doesn’t actually care.

“Your brother killed Tyr Drakesbrother,” the officer says, ignoring the correction. “You admitted as much at the scene.”

Neil shrugs, reaches out to his brother. The kennel isn’t too small for him—it has plenty of room to stand, stretch, turn around. Probably it was built for larger wolves.

This doesn’t stop it from feeling claustrophobically tiny. The wolves guarding the door with their siblings are all _:silent:_. It’s oppressively familiar.

Hyde’s panicking, and though no one has noticed yet, it’s not going to be long before it’s unmanageable.

“It’s not as though denying it would have helped you,” the officer continues, “given that your brother was covered in blood and had fur and flesh in his teeth. So well done not making our job any harder.”

Neil breathes, ignores the officer, focuses on the way the chair feels against his legs and back. Reaches out to his brother.

Takes the feeling away.

He’s always been better at dealing with fear. His heart is thundering now, kicking up into quadruple time, but he’s been this afraid his entire life. He can handle it.

“What I don’t understand,” the officer says, “is how your brother managed to take down Tyr Drakesbrother. I’ve seen the body—Tyr outmasses your brother by at least half again, probably more.”

Neil blinks slowly, controlling the fear-fast thunder of his heart, riding the shakiness the adrenaline leaves behind. He doesn’t answer—he hasn’t been asked a question.

“Where’s your brother from?” the officer finally asks. “He doesn’t look like a typical civilian wolf—one of our K9 officers says that aside from that redness, he looks just like a smaller version of an armed forces bondwolf.”

“Kansas,” Neil says shortly. It’s not even—exactly—a lie. It’s where the wolf who would become Hyde and the boy who would eventually call himself Neil Josten met, after all. It’s as close of a place to be “from” as Hyde has.

“Know anything about his bloodline?” the officer asks, making a note.

Neil rolls his shoulders, taps his fingers, considers the nervous energy buzzing through his veins.

“I want a lawyer,” he says, and then leans back in his chair. The officer says a few more things, about Hyde’s unusual looks and his odd eyes, how smart he seems, but Neil’s said all he wants to.

* * *

It takes hours before the lawyer arrives.

He introduces himself as Jacob Waterhouse, and sets to work on the police officers immediately.

In the end, there’s a great deal of conversation and argument about what, exactly, Neil and Hyde are being charged with. The exact legal nuances covering the intersection of murder and wolfsiblings are apparently a bit fuzzy, somehow. Bail for Neil, Hyde and Aaron has been posted—Waterhouse says by a woman who must be Matt’s mother, but the restrictions of their release still need to be negotiated.

Eventually, it’s decided that Neil and Hyde are under the same restrictions as Aaron, which are light for an unrepentant murderer. They’ll be trialled, of course, alongside Aaron, and Neil will have to notify the lawyer whenever he and Hyde leave the state.

He, Hyde and Aaron are let out. Waterhouse promises to come to the cousins’ house in the morning to discuss legal matters further and Wymack, looking older than Neil has ever seen him, picks the three of them up. Hyde hops into the back seat without complaint, and spends the entire ride pressed as close to Neil’s skin as he can get.

He’s still too far away, Neil thinks, and presses his face into his brother’s fur.

Neil’s heart still hasn’t stopped thundering, and he deliberately, blindly, smoothes one hand down Hyde’s side, over and over, the whole way to the house. They aren’t trapped anymore. Fear is unhelpful right now. Unfortunately, their emotions respond to logic just as well as they ever have.

It’s late when Wymack pulls up to the house, not quite so late that it’s early, but close.

“Get some sleep,” Wymack says, once they’ve piled out of the car. Aaron doesn’t need any encouraging—heading directly into the house without looking at anyone. Neil and Hyde hesitate on the porch.

“It’s late,” Wymack says as he lights a cigarette, noticing their pause. Neil shrugs.

“Bum one?” he asks holding out a hand, and Wymack arches a brow.

“Last I saw you didn’t smoke,” he says, but hands over the pack and a lighter anyway.

“I don’t,” Neil says, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag to get it started. He sits down on the top step of the porch and Hyde settles beside him, a sturdy, utterly familiar weight to lean on.

The smoke smells the same as always—acrid and not quite _right_. Cigarette smoke and gunsmoke aren’t quite the same smell. But it’s close enough, most days.

Not tonight.

“I talked with a couple officers at the station,” Wymack says after a long silence. “Apparently you weren’t very talkative.”

“I’ve read the Bill of Rights,” Neil says. “And I don’t like talking to cops.”

“Neil.”

The tone of voice is familiar. Neil leans a little heavier against Hyde, wishes the conversation was over, that he could slide into Hyde’s skin and never have to come out.

“I’m fine, Coach.”

“Give me that bullshit one more time and see what happens,” Wymack says, but there’s no heat in his voice.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth would be nice.”

It feels like a hand at Neil’s throat, cutting off his air.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Neil isn’t sure there’s any way to explain it—that he’s never told anyone the truth, not really. That it’s hard to believe he would be able to get it out, that he’s not sure if he’d be able to be honest if he even tried.

“Call Oakland,” he says instead. “Higgins needs to know.” Wymack frowns at him, and Neil shrugs, flicking ash of his cigarette. “Remember him? He called at the start of the year to ask Andrew questions about Drake’s father. A month or so ago, he changed the target of his investigation to Drake. Not sure if he ever made that official, and if he didn’t, the cops here won’t know to alert him.”

Wymack frowns at him, but pulls out a business card with a blue shield on it. Probably from one of the cops dealing with the case.

It’s not a phone call Neil and Hyde are at all interested in sticking around for. Neil stubs out the cigarette on the steps and gets to his feet. Hyde is close by him, and Neil keeps a hand on his brother’s back, light and desperate.

They head into the house. The living room couch looks as comfortable as it ever does, and Neil sits down on it, reaches out to cup Hyde’s jaw in his hands.

 _:survival,:_ Hyde says, soft and savage.

 _:survival:_ Neil agrees, pressing his jaw against Hyde’s for a moment, before leaning back and stretching out on the couch. Hyde gives him a moment to settle, and then jumps up beside him, wriggling close until there’s not even a breath of space between them. It’s comforting, to at least have Hyde next to him. Nothing is fixed, but at least not everything is broken.

They stir when Wymack makes coffee, only a few hours later, and again when he lets himself back into the house after his morning walk. They watch him warily though half-open eyes for several long moments before sleep drags them back under.

What finally wakes them is the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, a cheery voice. They lie still for a second, listening to what seems to be a conversation about the dire food situation in the house.

Neil breathes slow, presses his face into Hyde’s throat for a long moment.

 _:ready,:_ Hyde asks.

 _:ready.:_ Neil replies, tucking away guilt and fury and loss in equal measure.

Hyde rolls, rearranging his limbs, and then leaps off the couch and gives himself a full-body shake to smooth out his coat. Neil follows, getting to his feet and wishing he could make himself presentable as easily. There’s still blood on his shirt, under his nails, and after sleeping so close to Hyde, he’s covered in fur as well.

Andrew is on the stairs, smiling. It does nothing to ease the livid bruising on his face, just like the too-large turtleneck he’s wearing doesn’t do anything to stop Neil from remembering his scars.

Neil isn’t the only one to have stirred at the commotion—in fact he’s the last to arrive. Nicky and Kevin are standing in the door to Nicky’s room, Betsy behind them. She looks tired, but almost serene. Abby is following Andrew down the stairs, smiling but strained. Andrew is chattering away, like he doesn’t notice, but Neil knows better. Andrew’s medication makes him manic, not an idiot.

He’s just enjoying watching Abby squirm.

When he sees Neil and Hyde though, in the doorway to the living room, he pauses, train of thought derailed.

“Neil,” he says. “Hide. You are back. I thought perhaps the police would keep you.”

“Even we get due process,” Neil says. Andrew just smiles broader.

“Not that wanted, then?” he asks, and then turns sharply away from Neil. “All for the best, though. This solves all of our problems quite neatly, doesn’t it, Bee?” He waves down the hall at Betsy, who carefully makes her way out from behind Kevin and Nicky.

“He knows where to find the car, and you know where to find the store.” Andrew continues. “Pick him up some clothes while you’re there though—if we leave him too long, he’s either going to start to smell, or he’s going to grow his own fur coat.”

Neil bristles, but Andrew clearly doesn’t care. Betsy just smiles.

“Do you want anything particular for breakfast?” Betsy asks.

“No requests. You can ask the ghosts if they want anything,” Andrew says, with a tilt of his head towards where Nicky and Kevin are standing, “but I don’t think they’ll say much. Oh, but you’ll need this.” He pats at his pockets, coming up with what he wants on the third try. He hands it over to Betsy, and all Neil catches is a glint of light.

Betsy takes a step towards Neil, but Andrew grabs her sleeve before she makes it any further.

“Excites,” he says. “Kevin has the card.”

She nods, and heads down the hall to get the p-card. Once she’s gone, Andrew claps his hands sharply, gaining Neil’s attention.

“Don’t forget the knives,” he says. “I’ll want them back. Goodbye.”

He offers a quick two-fingered salute and turns away to the kitchen. Neil blinks at him, confused, and Betsy is nearly back at their side before Neil and Hyde manage to process that Andrew just nominated them to run errands.

They swallow a protest, and follow Betsy, when she returns, out the door and into her car. She’s silent for the first few minutes, fiddling with her GPS and starting out of the neighborhood.

Eventually, though, she starts talking.

“David asked me to talk to you,” she says. “It’s not exactly a normal setting, but please be assured that anything you say here will be kept just as confidential as if we were having a session at my office.”

“We don’t have anything to say.” Neil says, keeping his eyes fixed on the view out his window.

“Are you sure?” Betsy says. “It’s very common to react to trauma with detachment or numbness, in the immediate aftermath. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel anything.”

 _:missed-kill,:_ Hyde says, _:missed_ obvious _kill.:_ Neil bites his tongue on a bitter laugh.

 _:blood-on-scattered-snow,:_ he agrees. Of course they feel something. They feel a lot of things. But it’s not useful right now.

“I’m sure,” Neil says. “Talk to Nicky. He wanted to fix his family, and now it’s even more broken.”

He can feel the way she looks at him for that, see her through Hyde’s eyes, that slow assessing look.

“He’s lucky to have you as a friend,” she comments, finally.

“We’re not friends,” Neil says. “We’re teammates.”

There’s a pause, and Betsy taps her fingers for a moment against her steering wheel. “Are you not his friend, or is he not yours?” she finally asks. “They’re different, and, forgive me for making assumptions, it seems to me that he regards you as a friend, even if you don’t feel the same.” She waits for a second, and when Neil doesn’t respond, she says, “And the rest of the team, are they your friends?”

 _:ink-and-ozone,:_ Neil whispers, and Hyde murmurs _:pack,:_ in reply.

“I don’t need friends,” Neil says finally. “Coach brought me here to play, so that’s what I’m going to do. Is this really the question you want to be asking?”

“I want to ask about last night,” Betsy admits calmly. “But I also want to make sure that you have a support system in place, to help you through the next few weeks. If you don’t want to talk about that, though, we can talk about last night. Can you tell me what you saw?”

 _:”saw”:_ Hyde says derisively, and Neil lets out a huff of breath in agreement. What they _saw_ was far from the most important thing about what happened in the Hemmick house.

“I’m sure you’ve gotten the story from Kevin and Nicky,” Neil says. He’s not dumb enough to think Aaron would have spoken to her. “Maybe Coach told you what he heard from the police. Maybe Andrew told you something. What’s there to say?”

“Why did you leave the table so abruptly?” Betsy asks. “Kevin couldn’t explain it—he said you just left.”

Neil snorts. “We were paying attention. Hyde said there was blood. I thought Andrew had broken a window or something.”

“Then why did you bring your racquet with you?”

Neil turns to look at Betsy with his own eyes. She looks as calm and put-together in full color as she does in shades of blue and yellow. He turns back to looking out the window.

“Do you own a gun?” he asks.

She shakes her head, and then maybe realizing that he isn’t looking at her, opens her mouth. Neil ignores it.

“Imagine you did have a gun,” he says, cutting her off. “You wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone moving around in your house. Maybe it’s not really a person. But if it is, and they’re armed, you can shoot them and the police will call it self-defense. That’s why I had the racquet.”

“You have a wolfbrother,” Betsy points out. “He’s certainly dangerous enough to protect you.”

Hyde twitches an ear, relays _:amusement:_ and then _:lived a safe life,:_ to Neil.

“Hyde can’t solve every threat,” Neil says.

Betsy taps her steering wheel again, silent, before she says, “There’s a fine line between self-defense and murder, Neil. You had no way to know Andrew was in trouble. Or that there might be a bondwolf to face down. Why did you bring your brother, and Aaron, and the racquet?”

There’s a long silence, before Neil says, begrudging, “I heard Andrew and Luther arguing. It didn’t sound right. I didn’t know what Luther was lying about, but he was lying about something. I wasn’t going to risk being outnumbered or unarmed.” He reaches out without looking, smooths a finger across the soft, short fur between Hyde’s eyes. “I had to hand the racquet to Aaron to break down the door. There wasn’t time to get it back.”

And he didn’t really need it, but he’s not stupid enough to say that out loud, no matter how much confidentiality Betsy promises.

“What happened before you broke the door?”

Neil shrugs. “Hyde went ahead. He pinned the stranger—we could smell blood behind the door. And then I kicked the door down.”

“What did you see once the door was open?”

“Drake,” Neil says, and the words feel like they’re dragged out of him, poison-bitter on his tongue. “He was. Assaulting Andrew. I was getting my balance back, so Aaron was faster. He hit Drake—” Neil taps his own face in an approximation of where the racquet struck. “It was a heavy, so it just took the one hit.”

 _:messy kill,:_ Hyde says. _:racquet, though?:_

Neil shakes his head a little. It’s unlikely. “You got the p-card, so I assume we’re not getting the racquet back.”

“You want it back?” Betsy asks, sounding a little startled.

“Do you know how much a racquet costs? Of course we want it back.”

“It doesn’t bother you that it was used to kill someone?”

 _:useful/ours,:_ Hyde says, annoyed. _:addition to hunting-sharpness:_

Neil just shrugs. “Wasn’t anyone important.”

“Interesting,” Betsy says, pulling into a parking spot at the shopping center and GPS off. “Everything else aside, Drake’s life was ended violently only a few feet from you. It would be completely normal if you felt shock, or even grief.”

Neil’s lips twist, and he laughs a little, a humorless huff of air. “You just told me detachment was normal too. But no, I don’t feel anything,” he says. He can still see Andrew’s white-knuckled hands behind his eyes, still smell fresh blood and hear the laughter. There’s a whisper of _:horror:_ threading through the back of his mind that tastes like _:ink-and-ozone.:_

“Immediate and delayed reactions are different things,” Betsy says. “I want you to be prepared to feel things you might not want to be feeling.”

Neil scoffs, and Hyde laughs, loud and ringing through his skull. “You don’t need to be worried about me,” he says, getting out of the car and letting Hyde out.

She gets out as well, and opens her mouth. Neil cuts her off with “We’re not talking about this any more.”

Betsy isn’t deterred. “You can’t choke back feelings forever,” she says. “You need to find an outlet for them, whether that’s with me or with your teammates or with David.”

“I have Hyde,” Neil says.

“Admirable, and I’m sure he helps, but you need a human to talk to. Would you prefer I called your parents?”

“No,” Neil says, and begins walking away.

This time, Betsy gets the hint, following him into the store. They split up almost immediately, Neil heading towards clothing and Betsy to food.

This early in the morning, there’s no one else looking at clothing, and it doesn’t take long for Neil to pick out an outfit and ask for a changing room to be unlocked.

Once the door is closed behind him, though, Neil stops, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The blood on his shirt has dried down to near black. Drake’s blood, but it could just as easily be Andrew’s.

Hyde leans heavily against his hip, but Neil almost can’t process the familiar weight.

When Wymack called, months ago, and said Seth was dead, Neil told Andrew that they didn’t understand trying to die. Andrew had shrugged him off, said that Seth was self-destructive because it was a way out. Glib words to cover a deeper understanding.

They don’t understand wanting to die, that’s still true. But they’re familiar with using pain as an escape.

Neil turns over his wrist. He has his share of scars, but none of his are deliberate.

 _:ownership,:_ Hyde says, and he shudders, shifts his weight from foot to foot, forces himself still. Stretches up to press his muzzle against Neil’s hand. _:choice.:_

Neil turns, sliding his hand under Hyde’s jaw, bending to press his face into the wiry fur between his brother’s ears. They understand, the searing clarity of pain, personal and familiar. They wish they didn’t.

It’s hard to gauge how long they stand there, still and pressed together, brow to brow. Eventually, though, Hyde whines softly and nudges at Neil’s jaw, directing him back to the task at hand.

The clothes fit well enough, and Neil pays for them quickly, changing in the store bathroom and tucking his bloodied outfit into the shopping bag.

Finding Betsy afterward is a little harder, but not by much. Hyde has a sense for her personal scent after spending the drive over in the car with her, and once they catch her trail, it doesn’t take long for them to track her through the groceries until they catch sight of her.

They don’t approach, neither of them interested in getting caught in another talk about what they should be feeling today. Instead they observe from a distance as she picks up groceries. By the sight of her basket, she’s shopping to spend more than just one day in Columbia. They almost want to ask her how long she plans to be around. But that would open them up to another conversation, and they’re emphatically uninterested in that.

They already have to be in a car with her for the next leg of the trip. There’s no need to give her any more chances than that already will.

Surprisingly, though, once Betsy has paid and they’ve loaded the groceries into her car, she doesn’t talk. Instead, she drives them over to Excites and Neil and Hyde go in together to buy his new racquet, while she waits in the car outside. The cost is just as appalling today as it was yesterday, and Neil hands over the team p-card with an internal wince.

 _:pack provides,:_ Hyde murmurs at his side, _:reciprocity.:_

The concept isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s not one that’s applied to Neil’s life for a very long time. He nudges Hyde with a knee in thanks anyway, and tucks the receipt into his pocket, bringing the racquet with him to the car.

There’s only one place left to go.

When Betsy pulls up the Hemmick house, Neil just stares at it. Hyde still wants Luther and Maria dead, and so Neil does too, in a slow and distant way.

“Here,” Betsy says, and Neil turns back to see her holding out a key.

It takes a long moment for him to make the connection—Andrew doesn’t even let Kevin and Aaron drive his car, lets Nicky only begrudgingly. The picture makes no sense.

He takes the key from her anyway.

“You do have a license, right?”

Neil nods, slowly. He has several, actually—though all are forged, and none are in this name. As long as he avoids getting pulled over, that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Okay. Do you know the way back, or will you want to follow me?”

Hyde bites at air in the back seat, and Neil agrees. The gentle, leading nature of her questions chafes.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I need to get Andrew’s knives.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Betsy says, which is not unexpected, though it is unwanted.

Neil doesn’t reply, getting out of the car and letting Hyde out of the back.

He pauses for a moment, staring at the house. There are only a few places in the world they’d like to be less than they’d like to be here. Baltimore. Dublin. Kansas.

 _:hunting-sharpness,:_ Hyde reminds him quietly, and Neil takes a single, shuddering breath before he starts towards the door. He still wants Luther and Maria dead and he doesn’t want to be here, but he wants to leave his and Andrew’s knives here even less.

He rings the doorbell.

It takes three tries, but eventually Maria Hemmick opens the door. When she sees who it is, she tries to close it in his face, but Hyde snarls and Neil wedges one foot in the opening.

“We left something here, the other day,” he says. “I’m here to retrieve it.”

“Let me know where it is. I’ll get it for you.”

“Strangely, I don’t trust you,” Neil says, and when Maria flinches back, he shoulders the door open and walks into the house, Hyde at his heels. Maria stares at them for a moment, before turning and leaving the room.

Neil lets the door hang open behind them, and he and Hyde make their way up the stairs.

The door that Neil destroyed was removed from its hinges by emergency services, but either Luther or Maria has hung a blanket over the doorway. Hyde’s lip curls, and they tear it down with prejudice.

Inside, the room is still splattered with blood, though Drake’s body is long gone.

Neil and Hyde stare at the blood, at the messy bed, at the broken glass on the floor. They stand there for a long moment, just breathing and noticing with absent curiosity the way that their rage is snarling.

There are no good targets right now, but they’d almost take a bad one at this point. Just for the satisfaction. Just for flesh in their teeth and blood in their mouth.

It’s hard to tell how long they spend staring, before they become aware that, in the corner of their mind that they’ve been so studiously ignoring for months, something is whispering _:confusion-worry-hate:_ back to their fury.

“Aaron,” Neil murmurs, and Hyde agrees.

 _:ink-and-ozone,:_ he says, and then, a little rueful. _:new pack.:_

They’re out of practice—they haven’t needed to shield their emotions from anyone, and so they’ve lost the discipline of keeping their feelings to themselves.

Neil breathes, brushes a hand across Hyde’s back, and together they rebuild the old walls, the ones that keep them from bleeding too heavily through a pack-sense. Their mother would smack them when they bled too hard on her, but she had grown up with wolves, known what it was like to have foreign emotions against her own. Aaron has no such familiarity, and, it seems, no natural barriers.

With their defenses rebuilt, Neil walks across the room, leaving Hyde at the doorway to guard his back. The mattress is skewed to one side, but the box spring looks undisturbed, so he digs his fingers underneath and lifts.

There, balanced on the slats of the bedframe, are Andrew’s arm bands, and Neil’s switchblade.

He picks up the armbands and tucks the switchblade away in a pocket, uneasy at having it so close, before he lets the box spring fall back to the frame.

He sees neither Luther, nor Maria on the way out of the house, and does not bother to close the door behind them.

Instead he walks past Betsy’s car, letting her see the armbands in his hands, and unlocks Andrew’s car, letting Hyde in on the passenger side and then sliding into the driver’s seat.

It’s an uneasy thing. He hasn’t driven for some time, and they’ve never driven alone. He flexes his fingers against the steering wheel, and then adjusts the seat and mirrors as quickly as he can, all too aware that he’s right in Betsy’s view, that she’s waiting for them to make the first move.

He slides the key in the ignition, and hesitates, his lungs filling with scorching hair and burning plastic and salt water. He can hear the ripping sound of dead and bloody flesh separating from vinyl, taste smoke and charring meat on his tongue.

Hyde whines, ears flattening against his head as he hunches down in the passenger seat, and Neil grits his teeth, breathes around the heavy scent of his name, and turns the key sharply.

It’s only his second time at the Hemmick house, and he’s never driven in Columbia, but it’s a long-standing habit to pay attention to street names and turns. The traffic is slow, which gives him plenty of time to reverse turns and figure out his route, and he and Hyde focus on it with single-minded intensity, forcing out the image of a bloody, rumpled bed and Andrew’s manic cheer.

Eventually, he pulls up, with Betsy behind him, at the house. There’s an unfamiliar car behind Wymack’s, which Neil assumes is Waterhouse’s.

Neil just pulls into the driveway and he and Hyde get out of the car. Betsy, when they look over at her, seems to have the groceries under control, so they gather their things and walk into the house.

There’s no one in the living room when they check, and drop their things on the couch, so they continue on to the kitchen.

Wymack and Abby are sitting at the table, so Neil drops the p-card on the table in front of Wymack.

“I’ll pay you back for one of them,” he says.

“I look like I need your money, wise guy?” Wymack asks, pocketing the card.

 _:plastic-rustle,:_ Hyde says, a moment before Neil hears it himself, heralding Betsy’s arrival.

“Waterhouse is here?” Neil asks, stepping back from the table to make space between himself and where Betsy will be soon.

“Him and another lawyer,” Wymack says, just as Betsy walks through the door. “Want to explain that?” he asks her.

Betsy puts the bags down on the counter before replying. “I will,” she says. “Where are Aaron, Nicky and Kevin, though?”

“Nicky almost took a knife to the chest for trying to hug Andrew,” Wymack says. “Kevin got him out of here, and I think they shut themselves up in Nicky’s bedroom. Aaron’s in his room, talking to Waterhouse.”

“Anyone hurt?” Betsy asks.

“No, thank God,” Abby says. “David grabbed Andrew just in time.”

Betsy nods a little, and then looks up at Neil.

“I need to talk to David and Abby,” she says, which is at least refreshingly honest. “Do you two mind checking in with Kevin and Nicky?”

Neil shrugs and he and Hyde head for the door. If she thinks that just sending them out of the room will get her any privacy, she vastly underestimates them, but they’re willing to let her do that for now.

He stops by the living room to grab the shopping bag full of bloody clothes. Hyde waits in the hallway, halfway to Nicky’s door, listening intently to the kitchen.

“What’s so secret about this second lawyer?” Wymack asks, and they hear someone, probably Betsy, sigh.

“The situation is complicated,” she says. “I don’t want to have to convince any more people than I need to.”

“What situation?” Abby asks, and Neil tilts his head, finding himself agreeing as he walks to the bathroom to throw out the bag. Waterhouse is handling his, Hyde and Aaron’s upcoming murder trial, and he never mentioned another lawyer becoming involved.

“I want to send Andrew to Easthaven Hospital,” Betsy says. “I want to take him off his medication.”

The world goes sideways under Neil’s feet, and Hyde leaps to his feet, moving silently down the hallway to be closer, to hear better. They almost don’t hear Abby’s incredulous shout, too busy processing Betsy’s statement.

“You can’t!” Abby snaps, obviously trying to keep her voice down. “What are you thinking? Compounding that kind of trauma with another isn’t going to help anything, just make things worse. I understand where you’re coming from with this, but it’s not the right solution.”

“It’s the only ethical solution,” Betsy says, her voice implacable.

“You can’t—”

“She can,” Wymack says. There’s the sound of someone shifting in their seat. “If you think this is the right decision, I’m not going to stop you. I trust you to know what’s best for my kids.”

“I’m sorry,” Betsy says. “I know what this will mean for your season.”

“Worry about Andrew,” Wymack says gruffly. “I’ll worry about my season.”

“He’s not going to agree to this,” Abby says, and she sounds desperate now. Neil breathes, clenches his fingers on the cold porcelain of the sink. They understand Abby’s point, but she didn’t hear Andrew _laughing._

“He doesn’t have to,” Wymack says, and to his credit he sounds sympathetic. “It’s Betsy’s decision.”

 _:enough,:_ Hyde says, slipping into the doorway of the kitchen. Neil bobs his head in agreement and follows, keeping his footsteps light.

They stand in the door for a second. Betsy is sitting at the table, and Wymack and Abby are so involved in the conversation that they don’t notice Neil and Hyde entering.

“Do it,” Neil says.

Abby jumps, startled. “Neil,” she says, trying for calm and missing by a mile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Do it,” Neil repeats, locking his gaze with Betsy’s. “Take him off the drugs.”

“You’re going to force him through withdrawal and recovery at the same time,” Abby says. “If he’s back by New Years it’ll be a miracle.”

“It’s both or neither, Abby, you know that,” Betsy says. She still hasn’t stopped looking at Neil.

Wymack sighs, and then says, “Go talk to the lawyer. If he’ll go for it, do it.”

Betsy smiles, and says, “I’ll do my best,” getting up from the table. She tilts her head a little at Neil and says, “Wish us luck?” before breaking his gaze and heading out of the kitchen.

 _:luck,:_ Hyde scoffs, and Neil agrees. They’re not exactly the people to ask for something like that.

They find themselves hoping anyway.

And then they go to check on Nicky and Kevin.

The door to Nicky’s room is unlocked, and so Neil doesn’t bother to knock, just pushes it open and follows Hyde in. Nicky is lying on his bed, facing the ceiling, while Kevin is sitting still and rigid at the foot of the bed, his face a mask.

It’s not worth it to ask if they’re okay. Even if they didn’t both look haggard, the room is flooded with the scent of misery.

“Hey,” Neil says instead, lost for words.

“We shouldn’t have come,” Nicky says, with the tone of someone who has said this many times. “I should have listened one of the times that Andrew said to give up on them, and just never tried. If I’d done that, we wouldn’t be here. Andrew wouldn’t be—” he cuts himself off, closes his eyes tightly. “I shouldn’t have tried,” he repeats.

Hyde makes a soft noise, and then leaps onto the bed, getting a startled yelp from Nicky.

 _:rethink/replay pointless,:_ Hyde says, lowering his head to look Nicky in the eye. _:cannot control prey movements, cannot predict weather.:_

Neil finds a bit of wall by the door to lean on. “Hyde’s right,” he says. “You can’t blame yourself for what other people do. You didn’t know this was going to happen. None of us did. You can only make plans with the information you have.”

Nicky laughs, sharp and unhappy, and reaches up to touch Hyde’s face. Hyde draws back, sidesteps and jumps off the bed.

“Betsy said something like that,” Nicky says. “But can you really believe it? Andrew was so against coming—I should have realized it was something more than the drugs making him contrary. I should have trusted him.”

 _:should have,:_ Hyde says privately to Neil. _:didn’t. hunt what you have.:_

Neil doesn’t disagree, but it’s not going to help if he tells Nicky that.

“If you’re going to blame someone,” Neil says instead, “blame your father. He’s the one who set Andrew up.”

Nicky laughs again, somehow even more bitter and unhappy. “With alcohol, yeah. He told me and the police yesterday. It was Drake’s idea. Dad just had to offer Andrew the bottle, and Andrew would go upstairs and he and Drake would have all the time they needed to ‘work out their issues’.”

The sharp scent of whisky and blood floods Neil’s nose, and Hyde whines a little, the image of _:glass shards/amber liquid/spilled blood:_ flashing between them in a sharp arc of thought.

“I know. It’s what Drake hit Andrew with, wasn’t it,” Neil says.

“Yeah,” Nicky says, raising his hands to press them to his eyes. “That son of a bitch.”

He’s silent for a long moment before sitting up and grabbing his phone. “I need to call Erik. I haven’t told—I don’t know where to start.”

Neil shrugs a little, but Erik is certainly a better person for Nicky to talk to than Neil is. No matter what Betsy seemed to be implying earlier.

“We’ll give you space,” he says, and when Nicky doesn’t reply, he heads out the door, feeling Kevin follow. It’s not particularly surprising—Kevin needs a pack leader to stand behind. With Andrew unavailable, and Riko long since removed from the running, it seems like the role has fallen to Neil and Hyde.

It doesn’t suit them.

Still, he leads the way to the kitchen. Wymack, Abby and Betsy are gone, probably talking to Andrew and the lawyer.

Kevin practically falls into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Neil gives him a moment, to see if he also wants to talk about his feelings, and then turns to the groceries, still sitting on the counter. He and Hyde haven’t eaten in far too long, and that’s probably the case for everyone in the house.

Besides which, if they leave the groceries out, the food will inevitably start to spoil, and Neil has never been rich enough to be able to stomach that kind of waste.

“We researched him,” Kevin says finally, sounding numb. “Riko wanted to know all about him when we were looking at him for the line—we never found anything like this.”

Neil breathes, and his hands move, sorting through the groceries.

“He didn’t want you to.” He’s no great shakes at cooking—they never learned anything but the basics. But Bee bought plain things, and they need _something_ to do.

“You knew, though.”

“I knew Oakland was investigating,” Neil corrects. “I wasn’t sure exactly why. What I don’t understand is the timing—Higgins was here a month ago, starting to suspect Drake. Why would he fly here? Cross-country tickets are easy to track, if someone’s looking.”

Kevin just shakes his head, and Neil returns to cooking, setting the oven to preheat and beginning to cook bacon on the stovetop. Hyde settles behind him, a watchful barrier.

He’s barely finished the first strips when there’s a thundering on the stairs—too light and too angry to be anyone but Andrew. Other footsteps follow, a whole crowd of them. Neil focuses on moving the cooked bacon to a towel-covered plate, lets Hyde watch the door.

“Kevin,” Andrew says, even before he enters the kitchen, and Kevin stands up, automatic.

Hyde growls softly, but Neil just looks down at a pan of hot grease and thinks, _:easy,:_ until his brother subsides. Then Neil turns to the door.

Kevin is standing still as Andrew examines him head to toe, looking for injuries.

Betsy is behind him, at the foot of the stairs, and Wymack and two strangers are ranged along the lowest stairs, all looking into the kitchen.

“Still in one piece,” Andrew says, sounding satisfied. “How long will it stay that way, though?” He turns to look over his shoulder. “This is a bad idea, Bee, and you know it.”

“What’s wrong?” Kevin says, sounding alarmed.

“You haven’t heard, have you?” Andrew asks, looking back at him. “Times up. I’ve got to go. She’s going to get rid of this,” he drags a finger across his lips, across his smile. “Hope someone’s warned the doctors! They’ll lock me up and throw away the key once I’m done with them.”

 _:no,:_ Neil and Hyde think, idle and dead serious. _:no they won’t.:_

Andrew isn’t _:theirs,:_ not like his brother is, but they’ve killed for him and they don’t regret it. They won’t let anyone cage him.

“Get rid of that,” Kevin echoes, lost for a moment, before he catches on and turns to Betsy. “What are you doing? It’s too early.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Betsy says, unfazed by Kevin’s temper.

Andrew turns to face her, though, and he’s clearly delighted by the reaction. “I told you, Bee,” he says, bright and manic. “He wants me sober, but only if it happens at the right time. I did warn you. And besides that, who will look after Kevin when I’m gone? Coach can’t do it, he’s busy enough and Kevin’s a full-time job.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Wymack says, but Andrew just shakes his head.

“Oh, Coach,” he says. “You know that’s not going to be good enough. Try again. I can wait for you to find something convincing.”

“We’ll do it,” Neil says, turning off the burner and stepping away from the stove, into the center of the room.

Andrew turns to look at him, pushing Kevin out of the way. His smile slips, but not for long.

“You,” he declares. He doesn’t sound like he believes in them, which is fine. Neil and Hyde just wait.

Andrew crosses the kitchen, shoving Neil sharply enough that he trips backwards. Hyde dodges stumbling feet easily, but keeps close as Andrew crowds Neil back against the counters.

“Neil and Hide. Hide and Neil,” Andrew says, sing-song, before swapping to German. “You’re neither of you funny enough for this to be a joke, so what exactly do you two think you’re doing?”

“Taking responsibility,” Neil says in the same language.

“And I’m supposed to trust your newfound sense of responsibility will keep you here when Riko comes after you? When you were so ready to run not very long ago?”

“If we were going to run, we would have done it after the banquet,” Neil says. “We would have done it when Riko called me by my name. I told you. We made a different call. We trusted you. Now trust us.”

“Trust you,” Andrew says, grin widening as he taps a finger against Neil’s jaw. “Trust you? You lie and lie, and I should trust you to make sure Kevin keeps breathing?”

“I didn’t say to trust ‘Neil,’” Neil says. “I said ‘trust _us_.’”

Andrew raises his brows. “Oh and you are you, then?”

“You can call us Abram, if you need a name.”

“Should I believe that?”

Neil shrugs. “I’m named after our—my father. Abram is the name my mother used to protect me from his business.” It tastes strange on his tongue—a name nearly a decade out of use. It’s not their truest name, but it’s an easier one to give. “You can ask Kevin if you want to. I’m sure he remembers.”

“Maybe I will,” Andrew says, “but I’m still not satisfied. I’m to trust both of you,” he gestures to indicate Neil and Hyde, “but I only have one reason.”

Neil draws a breath, ready to snap, but Hyde says _:easy,:_ moving around Andrew to sit by Neil’s hip. He tilts his head, looking up at Andrew.

 _:query,:_ Hyde asks, deliberately bland, stripped of inflection. Neil can hear the echoing expansiveness of the sending, the shape of it that means it isn’t intended for Neil alone. _:share-offer/mindtouch, go/no go?:_

It’s a complex concept-sending, especially without the added nuance emotional inflection lends. Neil watches as Andrew works it through, knows the instant he understands by the way his eyes sharpen. After a long moment, he says, “Go.”

 _:fresh-grass-and-blood-and-sterile, old scent.:_ Hyde says, the shape of the first name Neil ever knew him by. And then, _:memory—will-to-pain/scorched-flesh/my-want-is-all/knife-against-bone:_

It’s nauseating, to feel Hyde bring up old memories and bare the scars to Andrew, like he’s opening their chest cavity to show their conjoined organs. Neil refuses to flinch.

“Do you understand?” he asks, instead. “Riko can’t make us leave. We’ll all be here when you get back.”

Andrew draws back and looks at them for a long moment, before laughing, short and sharp.

“It’ll have to do,” he says, turning to look at Kevin, whose expression would be more suited to someone headed to the gallows.

There’s a brief hurry of confusing last-minute interactions, and then it’s over.

Andrew is gone, and Neil can’t even pretend to play outsider anymore.

He breathes, runs a hand down Hyde’s back, focuses on the warmth as his brother leans into his hip. Touches the place in their mind where they’ve begun a new pack, and then they reach out even further together, finding each of the others they’re now responsible for.

They might as well begin, after they have their own meeting with Waterhouse, by handling Aaron.

* * *

Neil drives back to campus, feeling disjointed and awkward with Hyde in the back seat but refusing to let on. It’s only an hour’s drive, but every second of it is exhausting.

When they make their way back into Fox Tower, it becomes clear that someone called and said that they were on their way, because the upperclassmen are waiting when they get out of the elevator.

Neil doesn’t have anything to say, and it doesn’t seem like anyone else does either, and so the two groups stare each other down for a long minute, before Matt steps aside.

Neither Neil nor Hyde had realized Katelyn was even there, her unfamiliar scent blending into the mix of strangers that pervades the tower, her body easily hidden behind Matt’s bulk. She looks uncertain and unsteady, but as soon as Aaron catches sight of her, he shoves Nicky aside, starting for her.

She’s faster—running down the hall to wrap Aaron in her arms and pull him close. He clings, and she murmurs to him, soothing nonsense, tone more important than content.

Renee is next, walking quickly to grab Nicky in a short hug.

“How are you?” she asks softly, and Nicky just shakes his head. She wraps an arm around his waist, as though to prop him up. She glances over to Kevin, who is staring at Aaron and Katelyn, and then turns her gaze to Neil and Hyde.

She takes her time looking them over, from the matted places around Hyde’s feet and jaw where the blood has settled to the brand new racquet Neil is holding. She stares at them both for long enough that Neil knows Wymack has told them the whole story of what happened to Drake and his wolf.

“We should get out of the hall before the dinner rush starts,” he says, when it seems like Renee might be gearing up to say something to him. “Nicky and Aaron don’t need to be dealing with that right now.”

It’s an uncomfortable fit, being responsible for anyone else, but Neil made a promise, and has the ghost of ozone tingling on his tongue to remind him to keep it.

Renee nods, and tugs a little on Nicky’s waist, guiding him down the hall. On her way past, she touches Katelyn’s shoulder, but she doesn’t look to see if Katelyn and Aaron follow. Dan and Matt lead the way into the girls’ room, and Neil follows behind Renee and Nicky, stopping at the door to make sure that Katelyn and Aaron are coming.

Allison waits by the door until everyone is inside, and follows them in, closing and locking the door behind her.

 _:mother-bitch,:_ Hyde says without rancor, watching how Allison’s eyes rove over everyone once she’s turned back to face the room. Neil just shrugs, stepping to the side to let Allison pass and counting off the Foxes for himself. He comes up with the right number, but it’s not soothing.

The coffee table in the living room is covered in liquor bottles and empty glasses, and Neil watches as his teammates settle, Dan pouring drinks and Matt handing them out quietly.

Nicky puts a hand on Matt’s wrist after he takes his drink. “Thank you,” he says, quiet but earnest. “You didn’t have to—I don’t understand why. But thank you.”

“Mom said she still owed you guys,” Matt says. “Coach wouldn’t take her money when she offered, so she figured this was just as good.”

Hyde flicks his tail and murmurs _:bizarre.:_ Neil can’t help but agree—Matt was open about exactly how his trip to Columbia went, just before Halloween, but they can’t make it stack up with paying three people’s bail at the drop of a body.

As the Foxes settle, Neil and Hyde are the only ones left standing, leaning against the wall by the door. Dan flicks a glance at them, but seems to realize that they aren’t going to budge.

Instead she turns to the rest of the team, and says, “Look. I know we’ve got our differences, but we’re all Foxes. We’re a team. So if there’s anything you guys need— I don’t care what it is, a drink, someone to listen, whatever—you let us know, okay? We’re with you.”

Hyde sits down by Neil’s side, examining Dan, and says, softly, _:queen-bitch,:_ with equal parts quiet admiration and horror.

It’s what the team has needed—a catalyst, a reason to rely on each other, to bare fangs at the whole world if that was what it took. If Neil thought Dan knew what she was doing, drawing the whole team together like this, he’d almost be impressed.

Matt shifts uncomfortably and says, looking between Nicky and Aaron, “I don’t know if Coach said, but the story’s all over the news. People have been asking questions.”

“Vultures,” Nicky spits.

“It’s human nature,” Allison counters, tossing her head. “You might as well give them what they want.”

“Fuck you,” Aaron snaps back.

“Enough,” Dan says, shooting a quelling glance at Allison.

It’s too late though—Aaron is standing to leave, Katelyn’s hand tight in his. Dan looks ready to protest, but Aaron ignores her, walking purposefully towards the door.

Neil bites down on the _:don’t:_ that leaps to the front of his and Hyde’s mind, fully-formed. Aaron didn’t ask to be their _:pack,:_ probably hasn’t even realized it’s happened. They don’t have any right to make him stay here, not when Katelyn will probably take better care of his mind anyway.

He and Hyde breathe and stay carefully still as the two of them walk out.

Katelyn closes the door, and then Neil locks it again. At the same time, they build up their shields in a way they haven’t had to in over a year, separating _:us:_ from _:him:_ until Aaron is just a whisper at the back of their mind. They can’t bear to shield completely, not from the new-old feeling of having a pack, but they give Aaron the privacy they can.

The space Aaron leaves in the room doesn’t remain empty for long, Renee sliding into it and leaning against Nicky. He sags slightly against her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

Nicky breathes out a trembling breath, and shakes his head. “I talked to Betsy about it, and spent hours talking to Erik. I’m all done talking about it for now. But—later, maybe. Yes.”

“Kevin?” Dan asks, looking over to where Kevin is sitting, stiff as he was when he walked in.

“She shouldn’t have taken him away,” he says, jaw tight.

“You can’t think that,” Nicky snaps back, looking outraged for a moment before Dan raises a quelling hand.

“You were always criticizing his drugs,” Dan says. “What’s changed?”

“It’s the timing,” Neil says from his position against the wall, watching Kevin closely. “We’re practically guaranteed a spot at spring championships, but if the ERC decides that Andrew isn’t on the line anymore, we’re under size requirements. They’ll strike us from the roster, and our season will be over.”

He breathes, and Hyde breathes with him, and it’s not hard to smell the acridness of fear rolling off of Kevin.

“Riko will be the first to hear if that happens,” he continues. “So Kevin’s afraid.”

“Screw the season!” Nicky snaps. “If Betsy kept him on his drugs after what happened I’d—” he doesn’t finish the sentence, instead just jerking his chin sharply.

“Like you feel any differently,” Kevin challenges, looking across the room at Neil. Neil’s mouth flattens, and Hyde growls, rising to stand.

“I told Betsy to do it.” Neil says, meeting Kevin’s eyes and refusing to look away.. “If you had been around for a little longer, you might understand why. When you came upstairs, did you hear him laughing? Because he started before Drake even hit the ground.”

He ignores the way Nicky flinches, the look that Dan gives Matt, focused on staring Kevin down. “So no,” he continues. “I don’t care about the season. And after everything he’s done and given up for you, you had better feel the same.”

“It’s not that simple—” Kevin starts to protest.

“Simplify it,” Neil snaps, cutting him off.

Kevin goes silent, looking away, and then starts to drink in earnest.

The smell of his fear doesn’t abate, even when the others join him.

Renee, Neil and Hyde keep watch as their teammates do their best to drink themselves stupid. Eventually Renee orders dinner delivered for them all, in spite of their lack of appetite, and the three of them walk down to the front desk to collect it.

There are athletes coming and going throughout the halls, but Neil isn’t stupid enough to miss the way that conversations die as soon as they’re spotted, and Hyde’s ears are far too keen to miss the way that they’re talked about.

Fortunately, no one decides to say anything directly to them.

On the elevator back up to the third floor, Renee finally turns to them.

“Neil? Hide?” she asks. “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine,” Neil replies, and Renee doesn’t push.

Dinner helps sober his teammates, and slowly they begin to slide to sleep—Dan collapsed against Matt on the couch, Renee with Nicky and Kevin on the floor.

 _:odd,:_ Neil thinks, listening to them breathe, but neither he nor Hyde could ever explain exactly why. Instead they pad over to the door, and Neil tucks himself into a corner, content to have the wall covering two of his sides. Hyde lies down by his hip on the unprotected side, and Neil leans against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest. Hyde is a warm bulwark against his side, familiar from far too many abandoned houses and nights spent sleeping on street corners.

 _:ears pricked,:_ Hyde says, and Neil nods agreement, closing his eyes and leaning into Hyde’s shoulder, just a little.

No one will be able to open the door without waking them. These Foxes will be safe under their eyes—not exactly their pack, not quite _:loud:_ enough for that, but _theirs_ anyway.

 _:nothing:_ whispers from the corner of their mind, like the cold salt rush of the ocean, and they breathe through it, forcing themself to sleep.

* * *

Wymack pushes morning practice the next day to ten, instead of their usual six, and calls them to the stadium instead of the gym. Despite the extra sleep, all of the Foxes look bleary and haggard, likely the result the combination of sleeping on floors and the amount of alcohol they consumed.

Aaron doesn’t show, which isn’t a surprise. He didn’t come back, either over the night or in the morning. The quiet sense of him in the back of Neil and Hyde’s mind is pained, but still, and they assume he’s still with Katelyn.

“So,” Wymack says when they’re all assembled. He sounds matter-of-fact, professional enough to be admirable. “Let’s talk about the season. Andrew is still on the rolls as a PSU student, so technically we aren’t under-strength yet, but that’s chancy. I’ve talked with the other Class I coaches though, and the consensus is unanimous that we should be allowed finish the season.”

“Wait, what?” Dan asks, looking startled. “They’ve never supported us before. Why now?”

“Does it matter?” Matt asks. “If they’re supporting us, do we care?”

“Maybe they’re mocking us,” Allison says, examining her nails. “We knocked down too many teams in the division this year—they want to see us fail when we’re so close.” She smiles, sharp and savage. “More fool them. We have Renee.”

 _:raven-play,:_ is Neil’s comment, just to Hyde. _:gambling on pageantry, on vodka-old-paper.:_

“There’s no guarantees,” Wymack says, raising a hand to calm them. “I have a conference call with the ERC later today to determine our status, and while the NCAA coaches can advise, the ERC makes the decisions. I just wanted you all to know we have a chance. So today you better practice like the news is good. Change out and head to the court. I want you all running one lap for every time you said the NCAA didn’t have our backs.”

“Christ,” Nicky groans, levering himself to his feet. “We’re gonna be running all day.”

“Then you better get going, wiseass,” Wymack says.

For all his threats, Wymack stops them after three miles, sending them on to stretches and then drills, before handing them off to Dan and heading into his office to take the ERC’s call.

He’s gone almost an hour, and when he comes back and pounds on the door, everything stops instantly.

Instead of calling them off the court, he unlocks the door and walks onto it with them, his poker face giving nothing away. He stops by Dan, on the first-fourth line, and beckons the team over. They all move slowly, and Neil can feel his heart in his shoes.

 _:easy,:_ Hyde says from the bench, before hopping down and making his way to the door of the court.

 _:don’t want—:_ Neil says, cutting himself off, not even sure of what he’s trying to say.

 _:known-as-self,:_ Hyde says, gentle and fond. _:easy.:_

When all of the Foxes have joined the huddle, Wymack looks them all over, face unreadable.

And then.

“Be here at six tomorrow morning,” he says. “We have a game to win on Friday.”

Dan screams, jumping on Wymack. The rest of the team piles on after her, Wymack’s indignant spluttering covered by loud cheering.

Neil hangs back, glancing over at Kevin, trying to gauge his reaction.

 _:raven-pageantry,:_ Hyde says, and Neil agrees. Tetsuji Moriyama might not have a seat on the ERC, but neither of them doubt that he has sway over the decisions it makes.

Kevin, noticing Neil’s attention, turns to look at him, mouth moving as if he’s going to say something. Nicky, though, leaps onto Neil and breaks their staredown.

Neil contains the startled reflex to punch Nicky in the gut, and lets himself be distracted. For now, at least, he’ll let himself celebrate.

They’ll deal with Kevin later.

* * *

The rest of week proceeds eerily like normal. Aaron returns to practice on Tuesday, and with the exception of Katelyn joining them for meals in the dining hall, nothing really seems to change. It makes the moments when any of them stumble over Andrew’s absence all the more obvious. The reminders leave Neil constantly checking with Hyde about whether or not they can sense Andrew, to which the answer is always _:nothing:_.

They shouldn’t even try—they know that the only pack-bond they have is to Aaron, who they listen to carefully. They’re still relearning to protect him from their emotions. It takes doing, to listen past the savage _:nothingness:_ that wants to swallow them, the ragged-edged wound of loss. But they try anyway, and can’t articulate why.

Friday, they have a game against JD Campbell, now the worst team in the entire Southeastern Division, since the Foxes have pulled together and stopped sabotaging themselves. Neil and Hyde finds themself watching Nicky, Aaron and Kevin carefully in the run up to the game, paying close attention to the emotional echoes they can scent and feel.

 _:ours-in-trust,:_ Hyde says softly, when Neil presses their cheeks together in what’s long since become pregame ritual. _:keep them safe.:_

 _:always,:_ Neil says, just as soft, and they’re surprised by how strongly they mean it.

The game is tougher than it should be, with Neil still adjusting to his heavy racquet and Renee having to stay in the goal the whole ninety minutes of the game, but that isn’t the same thing as it being _difficult_ , and the Foxes clinch the game with a six point lead.

Katelyn is waiting to wrap Aaron in a hug as soon as he steps off the court.

Maybe it’s the embrace that makes Dan say, as soon as they’re back to the lounge “We should celebrate.”

Nicky, never one to pass up an opportunity to socialize, doesn’t hesitate before saying “Only if there’s alcohol.”

The whole room goes silent for a moment. Dan had offered, but she hadn’t expected to be taken up on her offer, and the change of dynamic stills everyone for a moment.

Neil just strips off his outer gloves, waiting for Hyde to come over and demand a game analysis along with scratching of difficult-to-reach itches.

 _:you saw,:_ Neil murmurs, letting the rest of the team argue about whether or not they’ll party together.

 _:_ saw _,:_ Hyde replies. _:felt is different._ this _play...:_

“—no,” Nicky says, gesturing in their direction, and Neil becomes aware they’re being expected to have been paying attention. “I’m making _him_ explain it.” He grins at Neil. “Thanks in advance for that, you’re a real friend.”

Neil isn’t sure what his face does at that, but based on Nicky’s sudden confusion, it’s dramatic.

“Don’t worry,” Nicky says, and it sounds like he’s backpedalling. “We’ll make sure you have Renee as backup, as far as anyone can tell she wins about half their fights, you’ll probably survive...Neil?”

“Are we really?” Neil asks. When Nicky’s confusion doesn’t clear up, Neil flicks his gaze down, meets Hyde’s pale gaze with his own. Of course Nicky can’t follow their thought pattern. “Friends, I mean,” Neil says looking back up. Betsy had mentioned it on Sunday, but they’d been too angry to process it then.

Nicky’s face falls, and he looks like they’ve broken his heart with those three words.

It’s just for a second, before Nicky’s smile is back, but Neil is still about to apologize.

“You’re killing me, kid,” Nicky says, cutting them off before they can say anything. “Yeah, we’re friends. You’re stuck with us all, like it or not.”

“Well _I’m_ not stuck with you morons,” Wymack says from the door. “Now all of you go get your asses in the showers so I don’t have to deal with your stink any longer, and get out of here.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Hyde stays in the lounge, unwilling to deal with the smell of the changing rooms if he doesn’t have to. Still, he and Neil can’t let the conversation go as Neil showers, and they stare at the walls, lost. Family and nearly a decade of running behind them, Riko in front of them, six months at most before they put “Neil Josten” to sleep in a shallow grave.

And Nicky says that they’re friends. They’re not sure if that even means anything, if they can even let it mean anything.

Pathetically, they want it to.

* * *

Thanksgiving break comes, and Neil and the pack he’s become responsible for are the only ones who remain in the dorms. As a consequence, a full half of the break is spent on the court, with Kevin barking orders and Nicky providing a running commentary on how much of a prick Kevin is. The other half is spent at Fox Tower, watching Aaron and Nicky play video games and listening to Kevin talk about other teams’ strategies.

It’s...a little odd, to be so effortlessly included, to be so constantly spoken to. Matt talks to Neil and Hyde every day, but he’s also careful to give them space and quiet if they ever so much as hint that they want it. That never even seems to occur to Nicky.

Actual Thanksgiving happens at Abby’s, and Neil unintentionally breaks Nicky’s heart again by trying honesty, and admitting that he and Hyde have never celebrated it before. After, when they go back to an empty dorm room, it feels strangely empty. They curl up together, Hyde half on top of Neil.

 _:sugar-steel-chemical?:_ Neil asks, and Hyde sighs, soft and low. His breath reeks, Abby having fed him on barely scorched steaks and any vegetable he expressed an interest in. Neil doesn’t mind it.

 _:nothing:_ Hyde says, after a moment of reaching.

It’s exactly what Neil knew he would say. He breathes, and then reaches out himself, to touch the flicker-feeling of _:ink-and-ozone:_ , feeling the slow roil of emotion that accompanies dreaming. And—and nearby, there are others. Gossamer brushes of emotion, the barest hint of a sense.

Hyde whines, and then wriggles closer, tucking his cold nose under the point of Neil’s jaw. Neil feels a bit like whining himself.

Neither of them are certain what to do, how to feel about this almost-pack-sense that’s beginning to grow.

There’s nothing they can do though, not right now, so Neil just breathes out, long and slow, and slings one arm over Hyde’s back, closing his eyes. They’re asleep almost instantly.

* * *

When the rest of the Foxes return from Thanksgiving break, it all but knocks Neil and Hyde off their feet.

They hadn’t realized it, the sense of their teammates built so slowly, but they can feel _everyone_ in the back of their mind, find them clear across campus if they try hard enough. It’s not just _:theirs-in-trust:_ who range from gossamer-glimmer to nearly as strongly _:theirs:_ as Aaron is.

The amount of time the team is spending together—really together, not just forced together for practice—doesn’t help. It’s soon almost _easy_ to find most of them at a distance, to touch them and sense their feelings.

Neil and Hyde spend several long hours remembering how to keep their emotions to themselves, how to make it seem, to anyone who isn’t deeply familiar with one, like there isn’t a packsense there at all.

It seems to work. No one mentions feeling strange feelings—not that Neil and Hyde would expect them to mention it if it _had_ happened—and there’s no emotional bleed that they notice.

Which means that Matt’s offer to come to New York for winter break, an offer that includes not just Neil and Hyde, but also _:theirs-in-trust:_ , is genuine.

They’re not sure what to do with that information, except to agree to think about it and to keep their heads down as they work through the last few days of the semester.

Which makes it particularly jarring when Wymack calls them into his office one afternoon just before break starts. The Foxes have just finished cardio and stretches, and are taking a quick break in the lounge before heading out for drills, when Wymack leans in the door, rakes Neil with an unimpressed look, and says “Hold on the drills, Dan. Josten, my office. Now.”

Neil blinks, a little confused, but stands up from where he’s been sitting on the floor. Hyde follows at his heels as he heads to Wymack’s office.

“What did you _do_?” Nicky whispers as Neil passes, and all Neil can do is shrug helplessly. He’s done a lot of things in his life, but he’s not sure exactly what’s making Wymack pull him out of one of their last practices of the semester.

Wymack is back in his office already, leaning back against the front of his desk.

“Close the door,” he says, and the low-key tension at the back of Neil and Hyde’s mind ratchets up sharply.

Hyde shoulders the door closed carefully, and then he and Neil face Wymack, expressions studiously neutral.

“I’m not sure if you two have some kind of ulterior motive,” Wymack starts off, “or if you both just think I’m stupid, but I want an honest answer to this question. No bullshit.

Neil bites down sharply on his tongue to keep himself from giving anything away.

 _:discovered what?:_ Hyde asks. There’s a veritable army of skeletons in their shared closet, but they thought they were doing well enough at keeping everything that hadn’t already come out from spilling out.

 _:unsure—exit strategy,:_ Neil replies, already plotting the fastest, least predictable path out of the Foxhole Court, how quickly they can get their things from Fox Tower, what they can leave and what they need to keep.

“Why do you fake your pace during cardio?”

Neil stares, the tumble of his thoughts halting dead.

“What?” he says, stupidly.

Wymack frowns at him. “I’m not an idiot, Neil,” he says. “I actually do pay attention to warm ups, even if you think I don’t. You keep yourself right at the middle, no matter what the pace is, and you’re never even breathing hard when you’re done.” He looks over at Hyde and then says, “Neither of you. I know you can run ten miles easily, but hell if it shows in practice, until you’re on the court.”

 _:not wrong,:_ Hyde says, a little amused now that they know the question isn’t nearly so dire as they thought it was.

“It’s not supposed to be hard work?” Neil finally says. “It’s just warm-ups.”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “Which aren’t useful if you aren’t actually _warming up_ kid. What’s going on?”

Hyde huffs a little, nudging at Neil’s hand.

 _:running for real?:_ he asks, a little hopeful and Neil shrugs.

“Why do you care?”

Wymack looks utterly unimpressed. “You’re on my team, and you’re slacking off. I don’t appreciate it.”

Hyde nudges at Neil’s hand again, and whines a little. It _has_ been boring.

“Coach Hernandez yelled at us when we were lapping the whole team, back in Millport,” Neil says, looking back down at Hyde’s pleading eyes. “Eventually we just stopped and learned to keep pace.”

Wymack nods a little, looking thoughtful. “Got it,” he says. “Now cut that shit out.”

Neil blinks, a little startled. “Coach?”

“Don’t you ‘Coach’ me,” Wymack says. “I told you. Cut that shit out. Lap them all if you gotta. It’ll be good for the lazy shits. Set whatever pace is going to warm _you_ up.”

“Okay?” Neil says, still a little confused.

“Good talk,” Wymack says. “Get out there, tell Dan I want you guys doing another three miles. And if you two fake your pace again, I’ll make you both run all afternoon.”

“Yes, Coach,” Neil says, and he and Hyde head out of the office.

Nicky groans loudly at the news that they’re doing more running.

“What did you say to piss off Coach, Neil?” he asks, as everyone picks themselves up and heads out to the court.

Neil just shrugs. Hyde is practically bouncing at his side, excited to finally show off a little.

They can feel Wymack behind them, watching, and so as soon as Dan has everyone down on the track, Neil kicks the toes of his shoes against the track, and then they take off.

It takes a bit of quick thinking and quicker footwork to navigate the pack, as the Foxes slowly begin to establish their usual hierarchy of pace.

And then they’ve blown free of the crowd, and there’s just open track in front of them. They’ll have to re-navigate the crush soon enough, but for now, they fix their eyes on the open space in front of them, and they _run._

Three miles doesn’t take them long at all.

Once they finish, Neil walks over to the bench to grab his water bottle and Hyde bounces off the track behind him, tongue lolling with good cheer.

Wymack watches them, and once they’re in earshot, he shakes his head at them.

“Not even tired a little, are you two?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for them to answer, just shakes his head again. “I’m going to sign you both up for a marathon.”

Neil just shrugs. For all that Nicky whines about Coach’s threats, he and Hyde think that a marathon sounds like fun—a good challenge, and one that Hyde isn’t barred from.

The rest of the team trickles over as they finish, and Nicky, when he comes over, looks betrayed.

“What was that?” he asks, grabbing his water bottle and all but upending it over his head.

“Coach said to stop taking it so easy,” Neil says. “So we did.”

Nicky mutters something like _what the fuck_ , but Dan smacks him on the shoulder.

“Nice hustle, kids,” she says, grinning at both of them.

* * *

The Christmas banquet is awkward from the start—the event organizers having decided, with their usual impeccably bad taste, to seat the Foxes across from the Hornets. Neil and Hyde do their best to keep their mouths shut and their focus on keeping Kevin from falling apart, while the Hornets conspicuously avoid conversation with him.

He and Hyde, in their turn, do their best to pretend that the Hornets’ captain doesn’t exist.

Neil would apologize to Renee for ignoring her, but he gets the sense, faint and cold as river water, that she understands. Kevin is, after all, a full time job.

After dinner, the Foxes scatter. Neil keeps a mental ear on the ones he’s responsible for—tracking Aaron and Katelyn across the court, Nicky into the dancing. He and Kevin wait on the outskirts, nursing cups of punch and waiting for the inevitable.

They get all of half an hour before Riko finds them, Jean in tow, just as expected.

Kevin freezes, but Neil and Hyde step forward to shield him. Riko smiles at their attitude, and it’s the smile of a cruel child, ready to tear the wings off of flies, or the limbs off of anything he can catch.

Neil finds it familiar, and Hyde describes it as _:boring.:_

“Take that look off your face before I remove it with a carving knife,” Riko says instead of a greeting, and Neil realizes he’s smiling back, a wolf-smile, a hunt-smile, the savage smile he inherited from his father. Hyde, at his hip, is grinning too, a hunt-ready expression of sharp teeth and lolling tongue.

He lowers his cup instead, lets Riko get a good look at his face. “I’d love to see you try,” he says. “I’m the Butcher’s son, remember? Your knife doesn’t scare me.”

“Three strikes,” Riko says, very nearly mild. “I’m disappointed, Kevin. You promised the master that you would curb his attitude. Obviously, you haven’t. I find myself wondering why.”

 _:sparrow turning back a river,:_ Hyde sniffs, unimpressed by Riko’s posturing.

“He tried,” Neil says instead of letting Kevin respond, still smiling. “Didn’t work.”

Riko reaches out and presses a thumb to Neil’s cheek, the same spot as Riko’s own tattooed number. Neil holds back the urge to bite him with both hands. He’s not sure whose teeth would end up in Riko’s flesh.

“Do us all a favor and do not speak,” Riko says, his finger pressing painfully into Neil’s cheek. “Your mouth has already cost you two teammates, and I don’t think you can afford what is coming next.”

Kevin and Andrew both said that Riko was behind Seth’s death, but hearing it from Riko’s own mouth is somehow worse. Hyde’s muzzle wrinkles, lips peeling back to bare white teeth, his hunting grin turning to something darker.

Neil holds out one hand. “I’m shaking,” he says mockingly, his hand surgeon-steady in the air.

“You should be,” Riko says. “You think you can defy me because I am not your father, but you’re forgetting something. I am the family your father is afraid of. And I promise you, Nathaniel, he was _deeply_ afraid.”

 _:cubs shy at butterflies,:_ Hyde says, angry but deeply unimpressed, _:butterflies still not-threat:_

Neil’s smile curls sharper at his brother’s comment, and he lets his hand fall as he leans in close.

“Not of you,” he says, fierce. “You’re barely part of the family. They didn’t want you, remember?”

He intended to strike a nerve, but he hadn’t realized just how well he would manage it. The look on Riko’s face is new, and Neil can _smell_ the rage rolling off of him.

“Jean,” Riko says, and his voice would freeze hell. “Take Kevin. Leave us.”

Kevin hesitates, looks at Neil.

“Go see Matt,” Neil says, and then brushes a hand casually at Hyde’s shoulder.

 _:go/protect ours-in-trust?:_ he asks, and Hyde goes still for a heartbeat, looking up at Neil with wintry eyes. Then he looks away.

 _:evade/escape,:_ he says, stepping away from Neil’s side to herd Kevin across the court. _:lone wolf against mad boar—bad fight.:_

 _:will try,:_ Neil replies. _:go.:_

Jean cuts a wide berth around Riko and Neil to take Kevin by the arm, and when they leave, Hyde trails them, every inch of him screaming his rage. If nothing else, it will keep other people away while the three of them head over to Matt.

Neil watches them for a moment, and then turns his attention back to Riko.

“I think I hit a nerve,” he says.

Riko moves viciously, slapping the cup out of Neil’s hand, grabbing his wrist and _twisting_ until Neil has to swallow the pain down. He can feel bones grinding, the way that any more force might very well break his wrist.

He blinks, forces the image of the white scars on Kevin’s hand from his mind. Breathes, acknowledges the pain, and schools his face to blankness as he meets Riko’s eyes.

“You won’t,” he says, holding himself steady. “Not in front of this many witnesses.”

“I do not care if they see,” Riko says. “A dog who bites his master should be slaughtered. The place and the audience do not matter.”

“I’m not a dog,” Neil says, swallowing the snarl and the howl in his throat.

“You are what I tell you to be.”

“I feel like we’ve had conversations about your delusions.”

“I’ve warned you,” Riko says, his fingers tightening, “about knowing your place.”

 _:fury:_ tears through Neil’s mind, and he grits his teeth and says, “Let me go, Raven.”

“I am the Raven,” Riko says, though he sounds like he’d prefer another title. Neil won’t give it to him. “You are coming to my Nest this Christmas. No,” he says, when Neil bares his teeth. “Don’t fight with me about this. I am the sole thing keeping you alive.”

“No,” Neil replies. “You really aren’t.”

Riko stares for a long moment, and then he smiles. Neil would really prefer he hadn’t.

“Oh,” he says. “You’re talking about that goalkeeper of yours. You know which one—he has a foul attitude and keeps touching my things. Though I haven’t seen him lately. I wonder why.”

Neil goes still, Riko is wrong, but what he’s saying is horrific anyway. Riko just smiles like he thinks he’s won, looking over his shoulder as though Andrew might turn up.

 _:two,:_ he whispers, realization running cold between him and Hyde. _:two. tomcat-and-city-street is only one.:_

Hyde snarls, deep and raging and silent but for the way he rings through Neil’s head.

 _:kill him,:_ he advises, _:kill him_ now _.:_

Neil breathes, still and quiet and full of anger like snowmelt. _:patience,:_ he says softly, even though his fingers ache. _:careful stalking.:_

“I heard they carted him off, didn’t they?” Riko says, all smiles, unaware of the conversation happening in front of him, of how close he is to dying tonight. “Something about...his brother fucking him stupid, wasn’t it? Must have been traumatic.”

Neil bites his tongue.

“Drake was an interesting man—I’d like to thank the police for leading me right to him. And Oakland lawyers are cheap,” Riko says. “Did you know that, Nathaniel? It only took me three phone calls.”

“You arranged it.”

Riko smiles, slow and cruel. “That’s not the best part,” he says. “Did you know the doctors at Easthaven could be bought too? Not quite as cheap, but I think that unless you want those therapy sessions to turn into therapeutic reenactments, you will be on a plane to West Virginia tomorrow. Jean will give your ticket to Kevin.”

Neil’s ears are ringing, and he feels curiously, completely calm.

“Do you understand me?” Riko asks, a king assured of hearing the correct response, and the calm becomes something else in an instant.

Neil understands, more than Riko could ever imagine. He can practically _taste_ the rot of Riko’s mind, all _:sickness-and-carrion:_. There aren’t any words for how well he understands, and he would never stoop to touching Riko’s mind in order to explain properly.

Instead he uses his fists, and punches Riko directly in the mouth.

Then he uses the space created by Riko stumbling back to swing for an eye.

There’s not enough space for the kind of fighting he’s used to—all strike-and-retreat—but that’s fine. Matt’s taught him a few things, the last month or two, and Hyde has always known how to aim for the places it hurts.

He’s a better fighter than Riko, he realizes with cold satisfaction as he lands several more hits.

Before he can do any _real_ damage though, there are hands on him, yanking him away. Neil fights them too. Riko isn’t any more willing to disengage, fights closer for long enough to say, “You just cost him, Nathaniel.”

Neil snarls, manages to drag Riko closer by his collar and growl, “You even fucking _think_ of laying a hand on him—”

Wymack’s arm across his chest cuts Neil off, drags him away like he weighs nothing. For an instant everything is silent except for the furious beat of Neil’s heart, the ragged sound of his breathing.

“What the hell is going on here?” someone snaps, and there’s a part of Neil’s mind that’s aware enough to realize it’s a coach, that _several_ coaches besides Wymack have gotten involved. Neil doesn’t bother to answer though, too busy staring Riko down, trembling with rage. He wants—a gun, Andrew’s knives, his brother-self’s teeth— _anything_. He hasn’t owned a gun for two years, the knives are at Palmetto, his brother is guarding Kevin across the court.

Neil settles for digging his fingers into Wymack’s arm and baring his teeth, smiling until it hurts. Jean has returned, taking his position behind Riko and looking disapproving.

“I understand,” Neil says.

“Apology accepted,” Riko replies, smiling.

After a short conversation with the other coaches who involved themselves, Wymack practically drags Neil in the direction of the home benches. Neil doesn’t bother to make it easy, too busy staring at Riko’s back. He loses line of sight when Wymack drags him through the court door, but he doesn’t bother to stop looking until Wymack shoves him down onto the bench and impatiently waves both Katelyn, and Nicky’s date back onto the court.

“What the fuck was that?” Wymack asks, as soon as they’re out of easy earshot.

“Coach?” Neil says, still watching for Riko, reaching out to his brother for his perspective.

“Don’t ‘Coach?’ me, you dysfunctional shithead.”

“No, but really,” Nicky says, sitting down next to Neil. “What happened?”

“Neil punched Riko in the face,” Matt says. “It was glorious.”

“What?” Nicky says, wide-eyed. “And I missed it? Neil, go do it again! Or don’t,” he adds, as Wymack levels him with a glare. “What, Coach! You can’t blame a guy for dreaming!”

“I sure can,” Wymack says, before turning back to Neil. “I’m waiting.”

Neil doesn’t bother to reply for a moment, just rolling his wrist and making a face at the pain. It’s been too long since he’s had to throw a punch.

Hyde is lurking by Kevin, watching as Jean hands over a white envelope. Somehow Neil had expected it to be black.

He feels Abby sit on his other side, lets her take his hand without complaint, feels Hyde begin to chivvy Kevin towards the Home bench.

“Neil,” Wymack snaps, and Neil looks up, slowly.

He breathes, settles the nausea and the rage that mix uneasily in his stomach.

“Riko bought the prosecution,” he says slowly. If he isn’t careful with his words, he’s going to throw up. Or kill someone. Or both. “He’s why Drake felt safe coming here, seeing Andrew. Riko said he would get the charges dismissed if Drake—” he cuts himself off, shakes his head.

He doesn’t have to say anything more. The Foxes are silent, and Hyde slides through them like a ghost, Kevin in his wake. He pauses for an instant by the bench, and then moves to shove his head under Neil’s free hand.

“You’re lying,” Aaron manages, after a moment, but Neil barely has to touch the pack-sense to know he doesn’t really think that.

Instead, Neil swallows, runs a hand across Hyde’s brow and digs his fingers into his ruff. He looks up at Kevin.

“You have my ticket,” he says in French. Kevin doesn’t respond, just keeps staring right through Neil. “Kevin. Look at me.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Nicky says, sounding oddly serene.

“No,” Neil says, looking over at Nicky and switching back to English. It takes a moment to swallow down his and Hyde’s reflexive reaction of _:my kill!:_ and find a better reason. “No. We’re going to break him first. If exy’s all he cares about, we’re going to ruin it for him. I don’t want to lose a single match this spring. Can we do that?”

“Not one fucking game,” Dan says, and her voice is vicious and determined.

Satisfied, Neil digs his fingers further into his brother’s fur. Winning is only half of what they have to do, no matter how much he wishes it was that simple.

 _:pack-defense,:_ he whispers, dropping his head for a moment to press his forehead to Hyde’s.

 _:pack-defense,:_ Hyde agrees. It won’t be easy, but they can do it.

He looks back up, and, satisfied with the looks of fury on his teammates’ faces, he turns to Kevin.

“You have my ticket,” he repeats, switching back to French.

“You can’t go,” Kevin says in the same language, and he looks haunted. “You can’t—you don’t know what he’ll do to you—”

Neil’s mouth twists. “You don’t know what he’ll do to Andrew if I don’t. Do you trust me?”

“He’ll break you.”

 _:burn-sear/stabbing/will-to-conquer/needle-bite/_ fingers _/emptiness,:_ they remember, a braid of endured experience.

Neil lets himself smile again, all teeth and feral survivor’s pride, and he’s satisfied when it makes Kevin flinch.

“He wishes he knew how.”

* * *

The next morning, the envelope sits on Neil’s desk, unremarkable except for what Neil knows it contains. He has a decision to make.

 _:sugar-steel-chemical?:_ he asks, reflexive by now.

 _:nothing,:_ Hyde says, just like he has every time Neil has asked, and presses closer, until Neil feels comfortably smothered by his brother’s weight.

There’s no way to know if Riko was offering empty threats or real ones. Neil can’t afford not to go. Which means he has to find a way to get _out_ of going to New York as planned.

He’s woken up late—Matt is out of the room, and Nicky seems to be on his way over. His time is limited.

 _:patridge faking a broken wing?:_ Hyde suggests, _:false trail, doubling back?:_

An injury would be tricky. Abby would get involved, and it’d be hard to fake something to get him out of South Carolina, but let him go other places unsupervised and without Hyde.

But laying a false trail—

Neil runs his fingers through Hyde’s fur, before he sits up and reaches to grab his phone from where it’s lying under his pillow. He whispers _:thanks:_ , and starts talking to a dead phone as soon as he feels-hears Nicky enter the suite.

“Yeah. I got it, but I need—” he says, cutting himself off and flicking Nicky an acknowledging glance when he comes in the door. “I saw it.”

Nicky’s eyes widen as he realizes that Neil is on the phone, and he settles in the doorway, too curious to walk away. Neil was banking on it.

He holds up a finger, like he doesn’t expect the conversation to take much longer.

“What were you expecting? You waited this long to tell me, I’ve made other plans that include him.” He listens for a moment to an imaginary voice, tugs a little on Hyde’s fur, and then picks the conversation back up.

“How long have you known he was coming? You could have said something. And what am I supposed to do with Hyde? You didn’t—” He makes an irritated noise, rubs behind Hyde’s ears. “I’ve told you before, that’s never going to work. Hyde isn’t a _dog_.”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I’d have to—” He rubs a hand over his face as though exhausted. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll look into it. Goodbye.”

He snaps the phone shut, and leans back against the wall. Hyde shifts closer, pressing his muzzle into Neil’s chest, as though comforting him, and Neil digs his fingers deep into his brother’s ruff, like he’s soothing himself.

Nicky approaches, climbing halfway up the ladder to Neil’s bed, so that he can cross his arms on Neil’s bed and rest his chin on them.

“Everything okay?”

Neil doesn’t look up from Hyde. “I’m fine.”

“Neil,” Nicky says, and he sounds wry. “At some point, I’m hoping you’ll stop lying to my face. I heard a lot of your conversation, and you didn’t sound fine. What’s really going on?”

Neil leans back, sighing slowly and knocking his head gently against the wall. “My uncle’s flying to Arizona for Christmas.”

“Good? Bad?”

“Both?” Neil says, shrugging. “He’s a good guy, but usually smarter than deciding to spend time with my parents. I haven’t seen him in years, and he’s never come on a holiday before. Something must be up, but I have no idea what. I don’t know if…” Neil sighs. “I said I’d never go home, but.”

“But you want to see him, and you want to know,” Nicky says.

“I already told Waterhouse I was going to New York.”

Nicky buzzes his lips like Neil’s given a wrong answer. “So call him back and say you’re going home instead. I know you hate phones but it’s not going to kill you.”

“I also promised to watch Kevin. And—” Neil cuts himself off, shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going.

“Kevin’s going to be with us. So what’s the real reason you won’t go?”

Neil swallows, because this is the trickiest part of the game.

“I can’t take Hyde.”

Nicky blinks, frowning. “Why not? I know you have ESA paperwork for him. Wymack mentioned he was a support animal when he brought you in.”

Neils shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. My parents—they don’t like that I have him, That I’m wolfed. I did the work to register him myself. If I take him home—” He shakes his head again, looks down and runs his fingers very gently through the fur over Hyde’s throat.

“You’re afraid of what they’ll do to him,” Nicky says, and when Neil dares a look up, there’s a little too much understanding in Nicky’s eyes.

It’ll do.

Neil shrugs. “They complained sometimes about how much it costs to feed a bondwolf. And they said that I should find a kennel for Hyde. Like he’s a _dog_.”

Hyde shuffles closer, until most of his weight is resting across Neil’s legs.

Nicky chews on his lip, looking concerned.

“Look,” he says finally. “You can tell me to fuck off if you want to, but. You should go, you obviously want to. Leave Hide with us. You can, right? You don’t usually take him to Columbia, and it never bothers you…”

“I can,” Neil says, cautiously. “But—”

“No buts!” Nicky says, suddenly animated. “You’ve done enough for us this semester. Let us do something for you. I’ll tell the others—they’ll say the same thing.”

He’s gone before Neil can say anything more.

It should be satisfying, to have arranged this all so neatly over the course of a single conversation. Instead, Neil slumps, sliding down the wall to lie on his side. Hyde huffs at being dislodged, but shifts himself anyway, tucking himself tight along Neil’s front.

 _:clever,:_ Hyde says softly. _:well-laid false-trail.:_

Neil doesn’t have a response, instead just burying his face in his brother’s fur. They both know it’s an elegant lie. That doesn’t mean either of them like what’s coming.

They feel it more than hear or smell it when Matt enters the suite, and it’s no surprise when he bangs his way into the bedroom.

“What are we going to do with you?” he asks, and Neil winces a little before rising onto one elbow to look at him.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s nothing,” Matt says, waving him off. “What time’s your flight?”

“Eleven,” Neil says. “If I go.”

Matt snorts. “You’re going,” he says. “I’ll drive you. Start packing.”

Neil does, and finds that he has to pause, fingers heavy on a shirt he’s had for nearly three years, when he realizes that he can no longer pack everything he owns into his duffel.

 _:priorities,:_ Hyde reminds him, and Neil shakes his head, zips the bag shut, firmly closes the dresser drawer. His brother is right. He doesn’t have time to be distracted by that right now.

Instead, he spins the combination on his safe, unlocking it and pulling out his binder. He hesitates for a moment,he can’t take it with him, that much is obvious, but there’s no guarantee that someone won’t break into the dorms over the break. It’s paranoid, maybe, but paranoia has kept him alive so far.

He’ll have to leave it in Kevin’s hands, and hope that’s enough to keep it safe. That Kevin will honor his wishes and not open it.

It’s disquieting, to find himself trusting someone like this. Neil isn’t sure he likes it.

* * *

At the airport, Neil calls Waterhouse, updating him on the situation, only saying that he’s heading to West Virginia for the winter break. Waterhouse wishes him a merry Christmas, and doesn’t seem to take offense when Neil laughs sharply at him, and does not return the sentiment.

And then Neil gets on a plane, and feels the distance between himself and Hyde grow. He’s not going far enough for it to be painful, but that doesn’t mean Neil likes it.

When he gets off the plane, it’s easy enough to spot his greeting party. Jean Moreau is nearly six feet tall, dressed all in black, and scowling with temper.

“You didn’t bring your mutt,” Jean says. “A good decision—a first for you. But you are still an idiot.”

He’s not wrong, but Neil isn’t here to be informed of things he already knows. “Let’s go,” he replies, already missing Hyde. Not-quite three hundred miles is far from the worst strain their mind has handled, but it isn’t comfortable to be so far apart.

Jean sneers, but leads the way towards the parking garage. His car is sleek and dark and not _quite_ as expensive-looking as Andrew’s, but nearly.

The drive to Edgar Allen is silent. Jean doesn’t bother to say anything until he parks the car in the only empty spot in a barricaded parking lot at Castle Evermore. Even then, it’s a simple, blunt, “Get out.”

Neil grabs his bag and gets.

Jean is a little slower to follow, but eventually he leads Neil to a door, typing a password on the nearby keypad. The pad beeps cheerily, a green light blinking on, and Jean tugs the door open.

He pauses, though, giving Neil a sharp once-over.

“Take a look at the sky,” he says, finally. “This is the last time you’ll see it.”

 _:dramatic,:_ Hyde says snidely, and Neil doesn’t laugh, but it’s close.

“I’ve seen it,” Neil says, and follows Jean into the dark.

 _:fluffy clouds, like scales on a fish,:_ Hyde says, mockery fading into gentleness as the Nest swallows them. _:white and grey hiding blue, weather about to shift:_

Neil breathes, fights down the way the corner of his mouth wants to twitch at Hyde’s nonchalant way of making Jean a liar.

* * *

The tour of the Nest that Jean takes him on is depressing every second it isn’t horrifying. It’s spacious, except for the low ceilings, and it seems to be well stocked with everything a college athlete could need. But it’s also almost entirely painted black, to the point where Neil begins to actively hunt for the tiny accents—almost all red—just for the indication that he hasn’t gone colorblind again.

When Jean shows him where he’ll be staying, it’s an unpleasant shock. Kevin’s cramped handwriting on postcards pinned to the wall, books that Neil knows Kevin has new copies of on the shelves of the bookcase. It’s eerie, like Riko expects Kevin to walk back in at any moment.

“I’m not rooming with the psychopath,” Neil says.

“You’re assuming you have a choice,” Jean replies. “The Master agreed that you needed Riko’s personal attention.”

Neil bites his tongue, breathes out sharply through his nose, looks over the room again.

“Is Riko actually delusional, or is he just deep in denial?” he asks. “Because Kevin’s not coming back here.”

“You don’t know anything,” Jean says. “But I do not have time to explain to you. Put your things down and let’s go.”

Neil drops his bag on Kevin’s bed, gives the room a wary once-over, and follows Jean. They end up at the court, where, in spite of the date, the Ravens are just finishing up a brutal scrimmage.

In the end, Riko’s team is up by three, and after going over mistakes and assigning players to shut down the court, Riko finally makes his way over to where Neil and Jean are standing.

He takes a long minute to look Neil over, and then summarily dismisses him in favor of Jean.

“I’ll talk to him after lunch,” Riko says. “Show him his things.”

* * *

His “things” as it turns out, is a full set of Raven gear, marked with the number four.

“Well,” Neil says, eyeing it warily. “That’s extreme. He does realize I’m only here for two weeks, right?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Jean snaps. “Kevin told you that you would be transferring this summer.”

“He said something about it,” Neil says, slowly winding the jersey between his hands. “I told him that I wasn’t going to cater to Riko’s delusions. Did he not mention that to you?”

“Ignorant child,” Jean hisses, snatching the jersey from Neil’s hands. “Listen to me, or you will get us both killed on your first day.”

“Us,” Neil says flatly.

“I will only explain this once,” Jean says. “The instant you walked into the Nest, you gave up the right to be an individual. You are no longer solely responsible for your actions. The Ravens operate on a pairs system—my successes are your successes, your failures are my failures. You go nowhere without me, do you understand? If you break that rule, we will both be punished. They are looking for failure—they want to take the starting line from me. I will not let you allow them.”

“Well,” Neil says. “Bad news. I can’t outscore Raven strikers.”

Jean rolls his eyes, as though Neil is being deliberately obtuse. “You don’t have to. You are not playing striker anymore—you shouldn’t have started in the first place. The master has moved you back to defense, where you belong. When he asks why you abandoned your position, you had best have a good answer for him.”

“It was the only position open,” Neil says. “Hernandez had a full defensive line. I just wanted to play.”

“It was a bad idea,” Jean says, and Neil bites down on the _I know_ at the tip of his tongue.

“It has taught you bad habits,” Jean continues, “and we have limited time to break you of them. Now, try on your gear, so we know it fits.”

“Not in front of you.”

Jean sighs. “That modesty is the first thing we will break you of, then. There is no place for it in the Nest.”

Neil scowls, lets the faintest hint of a growl rumble in his throat. Jean looks unimpressed.

 _:battles worth fighting?:_ Hyde asks pointedly, and Neil clicks his teeth in irritation, but changes out. He pretends not to notice Jean’s sharp glance at his scars, focusing on the Raven uniform, piece by piece. It fits well—he tries not to think of why that might be—but it still feels like it’s choking him.

“Good,” Jean says once he finishes, giving him a critical once-over. “Now put it away. You won’t need it until afternoon practice starts.”

Neil bares his teeth for a moment, irritated, but strips out of the Raven gear and changes back into his own clothing.

 _:power play,:_ Hyde comments, _:and clumsy.:_

He’s barely finished dressing again when he hears the door open behind him, and sees Jean go white.

Turning around, he sees Riko and Tetsuji in the doorway, Tetsuji with an ornate and heavy-looking cane.

There’s a beat of breathless silence, as Riko allows his uncle to lead the way into the room. Neil forces himself to keep still, to not lunge for Riko’s throat like he wants to.

 _:Hyde,:_ he says softly, and his brother is a warm wildness against his mind, a reminder of how to keep his control, of _why_.

( _:sugar-steel-chemical?:_ Neil asks, a split-second of reflexive query.

 _:nothing,:_ Hyde says, and pushes Neil’s attention back to what’s in front of them.)

“Nathaniel Wesninski,” Tetsuji Moriyama says eventually. His voice is disdainful, and the way he leaves off _Hydesbrother_ is telling. “Kneel.”

Neil keeps his hands loose at his sides, lets the rage he’s set aside for half a decade dump ice water into his blood, lets his brother sing furious defiance to fill up the blankness in his head.

“No.”

It’s like he dropped a bomb, the way the rest of the room reacts. Even Riko takes a step back.

Tetsuji Moriyama is not amused.

“You will kneel,” he says.

It’s probably the stupidest thing Neil has ever done in his life, but he leans hard against Hyde’s unyielding spirit, bares his teeth in a fighting snarl and says, “Make me.”

Tetsuji does, eventually, but Neil refuses to make it easy.

That rapidly and unfortunately becomes a theme of Neil’s time in the Nest.

* * *

Blood, and ungentle hands, accompanied by hard French. Sturdy determination in the face of the inevitable, the pursued turning to fight the pursuer, forcing legs to work that barely hold his weight.

Familiar, foolhardy bravery. Abrasive, unkind, _present_ , and they learn to lean on him, keep close and let him keep them from falling.

“When it gets to be too much, don’t hesitate to cry.”

They won’t they won’t they won’t, one steps out and brother-other-self steps in, they can bend the rules here, bend themselves so they don’t break. They cling to resigned determination, always so close to hand and so far from mind, find their feet and their fingers. Remember how to block, how to stitch, how to eat pain so it doesn’t choke.

It will be enough.

It has to be.

* * *

Neil blinks into awareness, not sure if he’s been sleeping or simply out of control, to the sound of an airport announcement.

“—I repeat: flight 1522 to Atlanta, Georgia will now board from Gate A16. Please report to your new gate immediately for an on-time departure.”

The message repeats in Spanish, and Neil blinks, confused, reaching out to _:stag-at-bay:_ with pure _:query:_ about why it isn’t French.

There’s no answer, and Neil’s heart trips into panicked double-time, searching for Jean, until Hyde presses their minds together, forces him to focus, reminds Neil of where he is, of what happened.

It’s New Years. He’s back in South Carolina, at Upstate Regional Airport. Jean all but put him on the flight from Charleston, walking him right up to the very edge of security and remaining violently _present_ in their head until they were on board. Hyde’s heart is thundering in his chest, a reminder that his brother is on his way back from New York.

Neil doesn’t remember anything past exiting security in West Virginia, and that leaves him cold.

 _:cayenne-and-incense/vodka-old-paper/ink-and-ozone/sweat-and-leather?:_ he asks to distract himself, because Hyde was keeping an eye on them, but Neil’s not sure his brother ever told him how they were.

He’s not sure he’d remember if Hyde had.

 _:laughter/brightness,:_ Hyde says gently, and Neil can hear it, feel the glowing edge to his teammates for an instant. _:safe, hungover,:_ Hyde adds wryly, _:easy to turn lock/open door/slip away.:_

Neil breathes. _:sugar-steel-chemical?:_ He doesn’t expect anything to have changed—it’s not like they’re pack. Not like there’s been time to build him into the faint sense, with Andrew having been away. But he can’t help asking.

Hyde says _:nothingness,:_ chilly as the wind off a great height, and Neil isn’t surprised.

He _wants_ though, for a moment, before he reminds himself that dead men and runaways have no right to wanting anything.

 _:go home,:_ Hyde says, sending the _:dust-coffee:_ smell that he’s come to associate with the dorm room he and Neil share with Matt.

Neil bites his lip, and then digs out the phone in his bag. It’s dead, unsurprisingly, and he forces himself to his feet, stumbling out into Arrivals in search of an outlet.

Eventually he finds one in an empty corner and plugs his phone in, curling up next to it with his bag by his feet.

It takes a minute for the phone to charge enough to turn on, and as soon as it does, Neil’s bombarded by all the texts he missed over the three—two?—weeks he was at Evermore. Most of them seem to be from Nicky.

Finally, though, the messages stop arriving, and Neil can use his phone.

It takes a moment, staring at his contacts, flipping to the call history, which still only shows one number, before Neil can bring himself to call Wymack’s number.

It rings several times, before Wymack picks up.

“You got a good reason to be bothering me on a holiday?” he growls, grouchy as ever.

“We didn’t know who else to call,” Neil says, and his voice is rough as gravel. He can’t remember if it was the screaming or the snarling that did more damage.

“Neil?” Wymack asks, and the growl is gone, his voice now sharp with alarm. “Are you okay?”

Neil breathes out a laugh and says, “No, not really. I know it’s sudden, but can you pick us up? We’re at the airport.”

“Stay there,” Wymack says. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m on my way.”

Neil nods, even though Wymack can’t see it, and hangs up. Upstate Regional isn’t all that close to Palmetto, so Neil sets a timer for half an hour, curls up against the wall and loses himself in the drum of Hyde’s heart, the length of his stride, the steadiness of his breath. It’s not sleep, but it’s not far from it.

When the timer rings on Neil’s phone, it takes a pointed thought from Hyde to push him back into his battered body, and even so, Neil keeps the sense of his brother’s wild heart, lets it beat a second rhythm in his chest.

He’s not exactly sure how he makes it out of the airport, only that sitting down on the curb _hurts_ , tugging at new stitches and twinging bruises.

It’s fine. He wraps his arms around his torso and rests his head on his knees, feet in the gutter, ignoring the honking of irate drivers and the chill in the air alike.

He doesn’t notice Wymack until a hand wraps around his shoulder, at which point his instinctive reaction to twist away and try to throw a punch leaves him gasping in pain.

“You’re a moron,” Wymack says, unbothered by Neil’s attempted assault. “Where’s your brother?”

Neil doesn’t even have to reach, just gestures vaguely in the direction of the other half of himself. “We’re a day and a half’s hard run that way,” he says. “Less maybe.”

Wymack sighs, sounding exhausted. “Up,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Neil blinks back to his body, slouched heavily on Wymack’s familiar couch.

Hyde whispers to him before he has a chance to panic about the lost time, gives him the quarter-aware dozing of the ride from Upstate Regional back to Palmetto, the ache of being half-carried into the elevator and of stumbling onto the couch. Watching through slitted eyes as Wymack hauled in his office chair, looked at Neil, sighed and then left again, returning with a glass full of scotch in one hand, the bottle in the other.

Both glass and bottle are sitting on the coffee table now, the glass empty, the bottle nearly so.

“Sorry,” Neil rasps, pushing himself upright.

“You sound like Neil,” Wymack says, sounding guarded, “but you don’t look like him. Explanations, now. Without bullshit, preferably.”

Neil blinks, slowly. There’s something wrong with what Wymack just said, something that Neil can’t quite remember, something Hyde knows but won’t admit. Something full of the stink of chemicals and the cold sharpness of glass and the color blue.

He reaches, claws at the barriers he’s normally content to let Hyde hold until his brother lets them fall. It doesn’t do much, but it does enough. One hand rises to touch his hair, and the texture is the telltale mixture of too-fine and too-rough.

He’s on his feet in an instant, and he can’t find the word for the _:negation/denial!:_ snarling through his mind.

When he makes it to the bathroom, his reflection isn’t a surprise, not really, but it’s still horrific enough that Neil can barely keep his feet. He can feel his knuckles going white from his grip on the sink, from the force it takes for him to keep himself upright.

His hair has been so many colors, but never this one, not for years, never anything close. This is his natural color, or as close as Riko could get with dye, and not even the bruises and bandages on his face distract from the ice-blue of his own eyes.

His father looks out from the mirror, in every sharp plane of his face, and Neil gags, dry heaves. There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up, but his body makes a valiant effort anyway, until he chokes, gags and then starts laughing, gravelly and hysterical, until he can no longer hold himself up, and instead crumples to an inelegant sprawl on the floor of Wymack’s bathroom, still laughing.

He can’t stop, can barely breathe, until Hyde snarls _:attention!:_ a sharp drumroll of a thought with all of his mother’s alarm-cadence, driving down hysteria.

Neil chokes on his laughter, raises one hand and bites down on the meat of his thumb, forcing it down.

There’s the click of a lighter, and it takes a moment before Neil can take the cigarette from Wymack’s hand, holding it close to his face as he pulls himself together, turns an awkward sprawl into something less twisted. He breathes deep, ignoring the way it pulls on tape and stitches, and feels himself finally begin to settle back into his skin.

“Neil,” Wymack says, and by the sound of him it’s not the first time he’s said it. “Neil, I need you to talk to me.”

Neil presses a hand to his coat, feeling for his bandages, and says, ragged and lucid, “I think I pulled stitches. I feel blood.”

“Where?”

“Places,” Neil says unhelpfully, starting to unbutton his coat with clumsy fingers.

“ _Moron_ ,” Wymack mutters, before batting Neil’s hand away and undoing Neil’s coat himself.

Neil lets him, raising the hand that isn’t holding a cigarette and biting onto one of the fingers to pull his glove off. The motion hurts, like there’s a bruise he doesn’t remember getting high on his cheek.

Wymack notices, and raises a hand, gently peeling off gauze and tape, and then freezes, his face still as stone.

“Neil,” he says, his voice even enough that Neil is automatically wary, “what the _fuck_.”

Neil raises a shaky hand to touch his cheek. The skin is tender under his fingers, but that doesn’t explain the bandage, or Wymack’s reaction.

He claws weakly at the sink, trying to force himself upright, until Wymack helps him up to face his reflection.

There, like a brand on the skin of his cheekbone, is the number four.

The world whites out into fury, and all that matters is finding a weapon.

 _:kill sickness-and-carrion,:_ they think, hearts thundering in syncopated time. _:taste-of-blood, hunting-sharpness to hand, run-find-hunt-chase-_ kill _, tear back freedom and make him_ regret _trying to chain us before he dies!:_

 _:oak-whisky-smoke:_ isn’t expecting the concentrated violence of their reaction, which is probably the only reason they make it past him, manage a detour to the kitchen for _:hunting-sharpness:_ and are headed towards the door when he forces their body to the floor.

They snarl, writhing in his grip, fighting for any hint of leverage they can use to eel free, but _:oak-whisky-smoke:_ just slams their hand against the floor until they can’t hold onto _:hunting-sharpness:_ any longer, holds them securely until all they can do is exhaust themself.

“Calm _down_ ,” _:oak-whisky-smoke:_ is saying, using every ounce of weight he has on them to pin that body to the floor.

They fight in his hold, slashing at him with the pure, bloody force of their outrage.

“Neil, calm down, it’s all right,” Wymack says, and there are no words for how _not all right_ everything is. It’s _never_ been all right, it will never _be_ all right.”

They snarl, and it _hurts_ , but that’s fine. They don’t mind hurting. It’s better than the way the walls are falling, and the things they tried to protect each other from feel brand new—Riko’s hands and knives all over them like they never made it out. Ink on them they don’t remember, like a collar and choke-chain. The oppressive _:sameness:_ of minds united by force, terrifyingly familiar.

“Neil,” Wymack says, and then, a little clumsy, he manages most of the shape of _:salt-spray-and-burning,:_ and then, _:calm.:_

It’s a shock, to be named like that, to have someone name half their self the way that their pack used to. They stop struggling, force themself to swallow the pathetic urge to dig into Wymack’s mind, force themself to be content that he can speak well enough that he must be able to hear as well.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Wymack asks, once their breathing has evened out. “I thought you were spending Christmas in Arizona, and your brother was staying with the morons in New York.”

 _:false-trail,:_ they say, and then, “We lied.” A shrug, impatient, and they extract themself from Wymack’s loosened grip, moving away to sit cross-legged on the floor, ignoring the twinges of pain. “Andrew’s back on Tuesday, right? If Easthaven hasn’t called Betsy yet, they should soon.”

“Yesterday,” Wymack says, sitting up himself. “What does he have to do with anything?”

 _:pack affair,:_ “All that matters.”

“Not an answer.”

They shrug, _:apology.:_

“Shut up,” Wymack says, and he sounds tired. “Can I check over your stitches now, or are you going to freak out again?”

“We’ll behave,” they say.

Wymack snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he says, and stands up before hauling them to their feet and pushing them towards the living room.

Their shirt has to be cut off of them, but once it is, Wymack makes no commentary on the scars or the bruises or the gauze that somewhat sloppily wraps their entire torso.

Eventually, he finishes checking the stitches, rocks back and looks them in the eye.

“Now that I know you’re not bleeding to death,” he says, “explain your pronoun problem to me.”

They tilt their head, frowning a _:query?:_ at him.

“Don’t give me that. You said ‘pick _us_ up’ and I see one of you. You said _we_ are a day and a half away.”

They blink, taking stock of themself, and then breathe out a laugh.

They hadn’t noticed, but Wymack’s probably right—their shielding is deplorable right now.

“We’re—” _:sage-and-salt-spray-and-burning-gasoline:_ “—the same. Mostly.”

“Last I checked one of you was my starting striker, and the other one was a wolf.”

They shrug, half-closing their eyes as they begin to redraw the boundaries of their self. “There’s not that much difference.”

“Bull _shit_ ,” Wymack says, but doesn’t push it, standing up and walking to the bathroom for a washcloth.

The shields that separate them from each other go up reluctantly, and Neil, suddenly split apart from Hyde, just shrugs. When his fingers remarkably fail at being able to even hold the washcloth, he lets Wymack scrub the dried blood off of his skin. It’s familiar and not, all at once, and the wrongness of it makes grief spike sharp in Neil’s throat.

He swallows, forces it down.

“Someday,” Wymack says, quietly intent, “we’re going to have a talk about this.”

“Spring,” Neil offers. “After finals. After we beat the Ravens, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. The truth, even, if you want it.”

Wymack shakes his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, gathering up the washcloth and dirty bandages.

Neil settles himself on the edge of the couch, cataloguing pain. It’s bad, but he’s alive and he can move. He’ll deal with it.

Wymack’s empty glass is sitting on the coffee table though, and it doesn’t take much effort to pour the rest of the bottle into the glass. It takes even less to knock it back, the heat and harshness long-familiar at this point.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Wymack says from the doorway.

“We—I don’t,” Neil replies. “Not unless it’s necessary. But...I can’t take most painkillers, and we couldn’t risk hospitals. So we used alcohol as anesthetic. The side effects were more manageable.”

He shrugs and sets the glass down, letting the _thunk_ of glass against Wymack’s wooden table settle him. “Enough, Coach? Two truths on credit, to last you until spring.”

Wymack looks at them—at him, Neil—for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes.

Finally he sighs.

“Yeah. That’s enough for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are things of beauty and joy forever, as are kudos!
> 
> As ever, I can be found on pillowfort as [morcai](http://www.pillowfort.com/morcai) (at least when the site's back up) and on tumblr as [boycottromance](http://www.boycottromance.tumblr.com)


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